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OF 
SAMUEL JOHNSON 
CONNOISSEURS’ EDITION FROM TYPE 
IN SIXTEEN VOLUMES 
VOLUME III 





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SLIDDONS 


MRS 


THE RAMBLER 


By SAMUEL JOHNSON 





PAFRAETS BOOK COMPANY 
TROY NEW YORK 


Of this Connoisseurs’ Edition of the Works of 
Samuel Johnson One Hundred and Fifty Sets 
have been printed from type on Special Water 
Marked Paper, of which this Copy is N° 


Pafraets Press Troy, New York 1903 


eee ee 


CONTENTS 


NO. 
113 The history of Hymenzus’s courtship 
114 The necessity of proportioning punishments to crimes 
115 The sequel of Hymenzus’s courtship 
116 The young trader’s attempt at politeness 
Yil7 The advantages of living in a garret 
118 The narrowness of fame 
119 Tranquilla’s account of her lovers, opposed to Hymenzeus 
120 The history of Almamoulin the son of Nouradin 
121 Thedangers of imitation. The impropriety of imitating Spenser 
122 A criticism on the English historians 
123 The young trader turned gentleman 
124 The lady’s misery in a summer retirement 
125 The difficulty of defining comedy. Tragick and comick senti- 
ments confounded 
126 The universality of cowardice. The impropriety of extorting 
praise. The impertinence of an astronomer 
127 Diligence too soon relaxed. Necessity of perseverance 
#128 Anxiety universal. The unhappiness of a wit and a fine lady 
129 The folly of cowardice and inactivity 
130 The history of a beauty 
131 Desire of gain the general passion 
132 The difficulty of educating a young nobleman 
133 The miseries of a beauty defaced 
134 Idleness an anxious and miserable state 
135 The folly of annual retreats into the country 
186 The meanness and mischief of indiscriminate dedication 
137 The necessity of literary courage 
138 Original characters to be found in the country. The character 
of Mrs. Busy 
139 A critical examination of Samson Agonistes 
140 The criticism continued 
141 The danger of attempting wit in conversation. The character 
‘of Papilius 
142 An account of squire Bluster 
143 The criterions of plagiarism 
144 The difficulty of raising reputation. The various species of de- 
tractors 
145 Petty writers not to be despised 
Vv 


THE RAMBLER 


} An account of an author travelling in quest of his own character. 


The uncertainty of fame 
The courtier’s esteem of assurance 
The cruelty of parental tyranny 
Benefits not always entitled to gratitude 
Adversity useful to the acquisition of knowledge 
The climactericks of the mind 
Criticism on epistolary writings 
The treatment incurred by loss of fortune 
The inefficacy of genius without learning 
The usefulness of advice. The danger of habits. The necessity 
of reviewing life 


3 The laws of writing not always indisputable. Reflections on 


tragi-comedy 

The scholar’s complaint of his own bashfulness 

Rules of writing drawn from examples. Those examples often 
mistaken 

The nature and remedies of bashfulness 

Rules for the choice of associates 

The revolutions of a garret 

Old men in danger of falling into pupilage. The conduct of 
Thrasybulus 

The mischiefs of following a patron 

Praise universally desired. The failings of eminent men often 
imitated 

The impotence of wealth. The visit of Scrotinus to the place of 
his nativity 

Favour not easily gained by the poor 

The marriage of Hymenzeus and Tranquilla 

Poetry debased by mean expressions. An example from Shakes- 
peare 

Labour necessary to excellence 

The history of Misella debauched by her relation 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
VOLUME III 


PORTRAIT OF MRS. SIDDONS FRONTISPIECE 


From a painting by Str Josuua RerNnowps 


BURKE 


From a painting by Str Josnua ReyNnowps Facing page 96 


CHARLES WENTWORTH 


From a painting by Sir Josuua ReyNowtps Facing page 224 


aS. 





THE RAMBLER 


No. 113. TUESDAY, APRIL 16, 1751 


Uxorem, Postume, ducis ? 
Dic, que Tisiphone, quibus exagitere colubris? Juv. Sat. vi. 28. 





A sober man like thee to change his life! 
What fury would possess thee with a wife ? Dryben. 


ohn TO THE RAMBLER. 

KNOW not whether it is always a proof of in- 

nocence to treat censure with contempt. We owe 
so much reverence to the wisdom of mankind, as 
justly to wish, that our own opinion of our merit 
may be ratified by the concurrence of other suf- 
frages; and since guilt and infamy must have the 
same effect upon intelligences unable to pierce be- 
yond external appearance, and influenced often 
rather by example than precept, we are obliged to 
refute a false charge, lest we should countenance 
the crime which we have never committed. To turn 
away from an accusation with supercilious silence, 
is equally in the power of him that is hardened by 
villany, and inspirited by innocence. The wall of 
brass which Horace erects upon a clear conscience, 
may be sometimes raised by impudence or power; 
and we should always wish to preserve the dignity 
of virtue by adorning her with graces which wick- 
edness cannot assume. 

For this reason [ have determined no longer to 
endure, with either patient or sullen resignation, a 
reproach, which is, at least in my opinion, unjust; 
but will lay my case honestly before you, that you 
or your readers may at length decide it. 

1 


THE RAMBLER 


Whether you will be able to preserve your 
boasted impartiality, when you hear that I am con- 
sidered as an adversary by half the female world, 
you may surely pardon me for doubting, notwith- 
standing the veneration to which you may imagine 
yourself entitled by your age, your learning, your 
abstraction, or your virtue. Beauty, Mr. Rambler, 
has often overpowered the resolutions of the firm, 
and the reasonings of the wise, roused the old to 
sensibility, and subdued the rigorous to softness. 

I am one of those unhappy beings, who have 
been marked out as husbands for many different 
women, and deliberated a hundred times on the 
brink of matrimony. I have discussed all the nup- 
tial preliminaries so often, that I can repeat the 
forms in which jointures are settled, pin-money se- 
cured, and provisions for younger children ascer- 
tained; but am at last doomed by general consent 
to everlasting solitude, and excluded by an irrever- 
sible decree from all hopes of connubial felicity. I 
am pointed out by every mother, as a man whose 
visits cannot be admitted without reproach; who 
raises hopes only to embitter disappointment, and 
makes offers only to seduce girls into a waste of that 
part of life, in which they might gain advantageous 
matches, and become mistresses and mothers. 

I hope you will think, that some part of this 
penal severity may justly be remitted, when I 
inform you, that I never yet professed love to a 
woman without sincere intentions of marriage; that 
I have never continued an appearance of intimacy 

2 


THE RAMBLER 


from the hour that my inclination changed, but to 
preserve her whom I was leaving from the shock 
of abruptness, or the ignominy of contempt; that 
I always endeavoured to give the ladies an oppor- 
tunity of seeming to discard me; and that I never 
forsook a mistress for larger fortune, or brighter 
beauty, but because I discovered some irregularity 
in her conduct, or some depravity in her mind; not 
because I was charmed by another, but because I 
was offended by herself. 

I was very early tired of that succession of 
amusements by which the thoughts of most young 
men are dissipated, and had not long glittered in 
the splendour of an ample patrimony before I 
wished for the calm of domestick happiness. Youth 
is naturally delighted with sprightliness and ardour, 
and therefore I breathed out the sighs of my first 
affection at the feet of the gay, the sparkling, the 
vivacious Ferocula. I fancied to myself a perpetual 
source of happiness in wit never exhausted, and 
spirit never depressed; looked with veneration on 
her readiness of expedients, contempt of difficulty, 
assurance of address, and promptitude of reply ; con- 
sidered her as exempt by some prerogative of nature 
from the weakness and timidity of female minds; 
and congratulated myself upon a companion supe- 
rior to all common troubles and embarrassments. I 
was, indeed, somewhat disturbed by the unshaken 
perseverance with which she enforced her demands 
of an unreasonable settlement; yet I should have 
consented to pass my life in union with her, had not 

3 


THE RAMBLER 


my curiosity led me to a crowd gathered in the 
street, where I found Ferocula, in the presence of 
hundreds, disputing for six-pence with a chairman. 
I saw her in so little need of assistance, that it was 
no breach of the laws of chivalry to forbear inter- 
position, and I spared myself the shame of owning 
her acquaintance. I forgot some point of ceremony 
at our next interview, and soon provoked her to 
forbid me her presence. 

My next attempt was upon a lady of great emi- 
nence for learning and philosophy. I had frequently 
observed the barrenness and uniformity of con- 
nubial conversation, and therefore thought highly 
of my own prudence and discernment, when I 
selected from a multitude of wealthy beauties, the 
deep-read Misothea, who declared herself the inex- 
orable enemy of ignorant pertness, and puerile 
levity ; and scarcely condescended to make tea, but 
for the linguist, the geometrician, the astronomer, 
or the poet. The queen of the Amazons was only to 
be gained by the hero who could conquer her in 
single combat; and Misothea’s heart was only to 
bless the scholar who could overpower her by dis- 
putation. Amidst the fondest transports of court- 
ship she could call for a definition of terms, and 
treated every argument with contempt that could 
not be reduced to regular syllogism. You may easily 
imagine, that I wished this courtship at an end; but 
when I desired her to shorten my torments, and fix 
the day of my felicity, we were led into a long con- 
versation, in which Misothea endeavoured to dem- 

ae 


THE RAMBLER 


onstrate the folly of attributing choice and self- 
direction to any human being. It was not difficult 
to discover the danger of committing myself for 
ever to the arms of one who might at any time 
mistake the dictates of passion, or the calls of appe- 
tite, for the decree of fate; or consider cuckoldom as 
necessary to the general system, as a link in the 
everlasting chain of successive causes. I therefore 
told her, that destiny had ordained us to part, and 
that nothing should have torn me from her but the 
talons of necessity. 

I then solicited the regard of the calm, the pru- 
dent, the economical Sophronia, a lady who con- 
sidered wit as dangerous, and learning as superfluous, 
and thought that the woman who kept her house 
clean, and her accounts exact, took receipts for every 
payment, and could find them at a sudden call, in- 
quired nicely after the condition of the tenants, read 
the price of stocks once a-week, and purchased every 
thing at the best market, could want no accom- 
plishments necessary to the happiness of a wise man. 
She discoursed with great solemnity on the care 
and vigilance which the superintendence of a family 
demands; observed how many were ruined by con- 
fidence in servants; and told me, that she never ex- 
pected honesty but from a strong chest, and that 
the best storekeeper was the mistress’s eye. Many 
such oracles of generosity she uttered, and made 
every day new improvements in her schemes for the 
regulations of her servants, and the distribution of 
her time. I was convinced that, whatever I might 

5 


THE RAMBLER 


suffer from Sophronia, I should escape poverty ; and 
we therefore proceeded to adjust the settlements 
according to her own rule, far and softly. But one 
morning her maid came to me in tears to intreat 
my interest for a reconciliation with her mistress, 
who had turned her out at night for breaking six 
teeth in a tortoise-shell comb; she had attended her 
lady from a distant province, and having not lived 
long enough to save much money, was destitute 
among strangers, and, though of a good family, in 
danger of perishing in the streets, or of being com- 
pelled by hunger to prostitution. I made no scruple 
of promising to restore her; but upon my first ap- 
plication to Sophronia, was answered with an air 
which called for approbation, that if she neglected 
her own affairs, I might suspect her of neglecting 
mine; that the comb stood her in three half crowns; 
that no servant should wrong her twice; and that 
indeed she took the first opportunity of parting with 
Phillida, because, though she was honest, her con- 
stitution was bad, and she thought her very likely 
to fall sick. Of our conference I need not tell you 
the effect; it surely may be forgiven me, if on this 
occasion I forgot the decency of common forms. 

From two more ladies I was disengaged by find- 
ing, that they entertained my rivals at the same 
time, and determined their choice by the liberality 
of our settlements. Another, I thought myself jus- 
tified in forsaking, because she gave my attorney a 
bribe to favour her in the bargain; another because 
I could never soften her to tenderness, till she 

6 


THE RAMBLER 


heard that most of my family had died young; and 
another, because, to increase her fortune by expec- 
tations, she represented her sister as languishing 
and consumptive. 

I shall in another letter give the remaining part 
of my history of courtship. I presume that I should 
hitherto have injured the majesty of female virtue, 
had I not hoped to transfer my affection to higher 


merit. Panvee 


HYMENAEUS. 


No. 114. SATURDAY, APRIL 20, 1751 


Audi, 
Nulla unquam de morte hominis cunctatio longa est. 


Juv. Sat. vi. 220. 
——When man’s life is in debate, 


The judge can ne’er too long deliberate. Dryden. 


OWER and superiority are so flattering and 
delightful, that, fraught with temptation, and 
exposed to danger, as they are, scarcely any virtue 
is so cautious, or any prudence so timorous, as to 
decline them. Even those that have most reverence 
for the laws of right, are pleased with shewing that 
not fear, but choice, regulates their behaviour; and 
would be thought to comply, rather than obey. 
We love to overlook the boundaries which we do 
not wish to pass; and, as the Roman satirist re- 
marks, he that has no design to take the life of 
another, is yet glad to have it in his hands. 
From the same principle, tending yet more to 
degeneracy and corruption, proceeds the desire of 
7 


THE RAMBLER 


investing lawful authority with terrour, and govern- 
ing by force rather than persuasion. Pride is unwill- 
ing to believe the necessity of assigning any other 
reason than her own will; and would rather main- 
tain the most equitable claims by violence and 
penalties, than descend from the dignity of com- 
mand to dispute and expostulation. 

It may, I think, be suspected, that this political 
arrogance has sometimes found its way into legis- 
lative assemblies, and mingled with deliberations 
upon property and life. A slight perusal of the laws 
by which the measures of vindictive and coercive 
justice are established, will discover so many dis- 
proportions between crimes and punishments, such 
capricious distinctions of guilt, and such confusion 
of remissness and severity, as can scarcely be be- 
lieved to have been produced by publick wisdom, 
sincerely and calmly studious of publick happiness. 

The learned, the judicious, the pious Boerhaave 
relates, that he never saw a criminal dragged to 
execution without asking himself, ‘‘ Who knows 
whether this man is not less culpable than me ?’’ 
On the days when the prisons of this city are 
emptied into the grave, let every spectator of the 
dreadful procession put the same question to his own 
heart. Few among those that crowd in thousands 
to the legal massacre, and look with careless- 
ness, perhaps with triumph, on the utmost exacer- 
bations of human misery, would then be able to 
return without horrour and dejection. For, who can 
congratulate himself upon a life passed without 

8 


THE RAMBLER 


some act more mischievous to the peace or pros- 
perity of others, than the theft of a piece of money ? 

It has been always the practice, when any par- 
ticular species of robbery becomes prevalent and 
common, to endeavour its suppression by capital 
denunciations. Thus one generation of malefactors 
is commonly cut off, and their successors are frighted 
into new expedients; the art of thievery is aug- 
mented with greater variety of fraud, and subtilized 
to higher degrees of dexterity, and more occult 
methods of conveyance. The law then renews the 
pursuit in the heat of anger, and overtakes the 
offender again with death. By this practice capital 
inflictions are multiplied, and crimes, very different 
in their degrees of enormity, are equally subjected 
to the severest punishment that man has the power 
of exercising upon man. 

The lawgiver is undoubtedly allowed to estimate 
the malignity of an offence, not merely by the loss 
or pain which single acts may produce, but by the 
general alarm and anxiety arising from the fear of 
mischief, and insecurity of possession: he therefore 
exercises the right which societies are supposed to 
have over the lives of those that compose them, not 
simply to punish a transgression, but to maintain 
order, and preserve quiet; he enforces those laws 
with severity, that are most in danger of violation, 
as the commander of a garrison doubles the guard 
on that side which is threatened by the enemy. 

This method has been long tried, but tried with 
so little success, that rapine and violence are hourly 

9 


THE RAMBLER 


increasing, yet few seem willing to despair of its 
efficacy; and of those who employ their specula- 
tions upon the present corruption of the people, 
some propose the introduction of more horrid, 
lingering, and terrifick punishments; some are in- 
clined to accelerate the executions; some to dis- 
courage pardons; and all seem to think that lenity 
has given confidence to wickedness, and that we can 
only be rescued from the talons of robbery by in- 
flexible rigour, and sanguinary justice. 

Yet, since the right of setting an uncertain and 
arbitrary value upon life has been disputed, and since 
experience of past times gives us little reason to hope 
that any reformation will be effected by a periodical 
havock of our fellow-beings, perhaps it will not be 
useless to consider what consequences might arise 
from relaxations of the law, and a more rational and 
equitable adaptation of penalties to offences. 

Death is, as one of the ancients observes, <6 ray 
gopepav goReparatov, of dreadful things the most dread- 
ful: an evil, beyond which nothing can be threatened 
by sublunary power, or feared from human enmity 
or vengeance. This terrour should, therefore, be re- 
served as the last resort of authority, as the strongest 
and most operative of prohibitory sanctions, and 
placed before the treasure of life, to guard from in- 
vasion what cannot be restored. To equal robbery 
with murder is to reduce murder to robbery; to 
confound in common minds the gradations of in- 
iquity, and incite the commission of a greater crime 
to prevent the detection of a less. If only murder 

10 


THE RAMBLER 


were punished with death, very few robbers would 
stain their hands in blood; but when, by the last 
act of cruelty, no new danger is incurred, and greater 
security may be obtained, upon what principle shall 
we bid them forbear? 

It may be urged, that the sentence is often miti- 
gated to simple robbery ; but surely this is to confess 
that our laws are unreasonable in our own opinion; 
and, indeed, it may be observed, that all but mur- 
derers have, at their last hour, the common sensa- 
tions of mankind pleading in their favour. 

From this conviction of the inequality of the 
punishment to the offence, proceeds the frequent 
solicitation of pardons. They who would rejoice at 
the correction of a thief, are yet shocked at the 
thought of destroying him. His crime shrinks to 
nothing, compared with his misery; and severity 
defeats itself by exciting pity. 

The gibbet, indeed, certainly disables those who 
die upon it from infesting the community ; but their 
death seems not to contribute more to the refor- 
mation of their associates, than any other method 
of separation. A thief seldom passes much of his 
time in recollection or anticipation, but from rob- 
bery hastens to riot, and from riot to robbery ; nor, 
when the grave closes on his companion, has any 
other care than to find another. 

The frequency of capital punishments, therefore, 
rarely hinders the commission of a crime, but natu- 
rally and commonly prevents its detection, and 
is, if we proceed only upon prudential principles, 

11 


THE RAMBLER 


chiefly for that reason to be avoided. Whatever may 
be urged by casuists or politicians, the greater part 
of mankind, as they can never think that to pick the 
pocket and to pierce the heart is equally criminal, 
will scarcely believe that two malefactors so different 
in guilt can be justly doomed to the same punish- 
ment: nor is the necessity of submitting the con- 
science to human laws so plainly evinced, so clearly 
stated, or so generally allowed, but that the pious, 
the tender, and the just, will always scruple to con- 
cur with the community in an act which their 
private judgment cannot approve. 

He who knows not how often rigorous laws pro- 
duce total impunity, and how many crimes are 
concealed and forgotten for fear of hurrying the 
offender to that state in which there is no repent- 
ance, has conversed very little with mankind. And 
whatever epithets of reproach or contempt this 
compassion may incur from those who confound 
cruelty with firmness, I know not whether any 
wise man would wish it less powerful, or less 
extensive. 

If those whom the wisdom of our laws has con- 
demned to die, had been detected in their rudiments 
of robbery, they might, by proper discipline and use- 
ful labour, have been disentangled from their habits, 
they might have escaped all the temptation to sub- 
sequent crimes, and passed their days in reparation 
and penitence; and detected they might all have ~ 
been, had the prosecutors been certain that their 
lives would have been spared. I believe, every thief 

12 


THE RAMBLER 


will confess, that he has been more than once seized 
and dismissed; and that he has sometimes ventured 
upon capital crimes, because he knew, that those 
whom he injured would rather connive at his es- 
cape, than cloud their minds with the horrours of 
his death. 

All laws against wickedness are ineffectual, unless 
some will inform, and some will prosecute; but till 
we mitigate the penalties for mere violations of 
property, information will always be hated, and 
prosecution dreaded. The heart of a good man can- 
not but recoil at the thought of punishing a slight 
injury with death; especially when he remembers 
that the thief might have procured safety by another 
crime, from which he was restrained only by his 
remaining virtue. 

The obligations to assist the exercise of publick 
justice are indeed strong; but they will certainly 
be overpowered by tenderness for life. What is 
punished with severity contrary to our ideas of ade- 
quate retribution, will be seldom discovered; and 
multitudes will be suffered to advance from crime 
to crime, till they deserve death, because, if they 
had been sooner prosecuted, they would have suf- 
fered death before they deserved it. 

This scheme of invigorating the laws by relaxa- 
tion, and extirpating wickedness by lenity, is so 
remote from common practice, that I might reason- 
ably fear to expose it to the publick, could it be 
supported only by my own observations: I shall, 
therefore, by ascribing it to its author, Sir Thomas 

18 


THE RAMBLER 


More, endeavour to procure it that attention, which 
I wish always paid to prudence, to justice, and to 
mercy’. 


No. 115. TUESDAY, APRIL 23, 1751 


Quedam parva quidem; sed non toleranda maritis. 
Juv. Sat. vi. 184. 


Some faults, though small, intolerable grow. DryDeEn. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


SIT down, in pursuance of my late engagement, 
to recount the remaining part of the adventures 
that befel me in my long quest of conjugal felicity, 
which, though I have not yet been so happy as to 
obtain it, I have at least endeavoured to deserve by 
unwearied diligence, without suffering from re- 
peated disappointments any abatement of my hope, 
or repression of my activity. 

You must have observed in the world a species 
of mortals who employ themselves in promoting 
matrimony, and without any visible motive of in- 
terest or vanity, without any discoverable impulse 
of malice or benevolence, without any reason, but 
that they want objects of attention and topicks of 
conversation, are incessantly busy in procuring 
wives and husbands. They fill the ears of every sin- 

4 The arguments of the revered Sir Samuel Romilly on Criminal Law, 
have almost been anticipated in this luminous paper, which would have 
gained praise even for a legislator. On the correction of our English 
Criminal Code, see Mr. Buxton’s speech in the House of Commons, 1820. 
It is a fund of practical information, and, apart from its own merits, will 


repay perusal by the valuable collection of opinions which it contains on 
this momentous and interesting subject. Ep. 


14 


THE RAMBLER 


gle man and woman with some convenient match; 
and when they are informed of your age and for- 
tune, offer a partner for life with the same readiness, 
and the same indifference, as a salesman, when he 
has taken measure by his eye, fits his customer with 
a coat. 

It might be expected that they should soon be 
discouraged from this officious interposition by re- 
sentment or contempt; and that every man should 
determine the choice on which so much of his hap- 
piness must depend, by his own judgment and ob- 
servation: yet it happens, that as these proposals 
are generally made with a shew of kindness, they 
seldom provoke anger, but are at worst heard with 
patience, and forgotten. They influence weak minds 
to approbation; for many are sure to find in a new 
acquaintance, whatever qualities report has taught 
them to expect; and in more powerful and active 
understandings they excite curiosity, and some- 
times, by a lucky chance, bring persons of similar 
tempers within the attraction of each other. 

I was known to possess a fortune, and to want a 
wife; and therefore was frequently attended by 
these hymeneal solicitors, with whose importunity 
I was sometimes diverted, and sometimes perplexed ; 
for they contended for me as vultures for a carcase; 
each employing all his eloquence, and all his arti- 
fices, to enforce and promote his own scheme, from 
the success of which he was to receive no other 
advantage than the pleasure of defeating others 
equally eager, and equally industrious. 

15 


THE RAMBLER 


An invitation to sup with one of those busy 
friends, made me, by a concerted chance, acquainted 
with Camilla, by whom it was expected that I should 
be suddenly and irresistibly enslaved. The lady, 
whom the same kindness had brought without her 
own concurrence into the lists of love, seemed to 
think me at least worthy of the honour of captiv- 
ity; and exerted the power, both of her eyes and 
wit, with so much art and spirit, that though I had 
been too often deceived by appearances to devote 
myself irrevocably at the first interview, yet I 
could not suppress some raptures of admiration, 
and flutters of desire. I was easily persuaded to 
make nearer approaches; but soon discovered, that 
an union with Camilla was not much to be wished. 
Camilla professed a boundless contempt for the 
folly, levity, ignorance, and impertinence of her 
own sex; and very frequently expressed her wonder 
that men of learning or experience could submit to 
trifle away life with beings incapable of solid thought. 
In mixed companies, she always associated with the 
men, and declared her satisfaction when the ladies 
retired. If any short excursion into the country 
was proposed, she commonly insisted upon the ex- 
clusion of women from the party; because, where 
they were admitted, the time was wasted in frothy 
compliments, weak indulgences, and idle cere- 
monies. To shew the greatness of her mind, she 
avoided all compliance with the fashion; and to 
boast the profundity of her knowledge, mistook the 
various textures of silk, confounded tabbies with 

16 


THE RAMBLER 


damasks, and sent for ribands by wrong names. She 
despised the commerce of stated visits, a farce of 
empty form without instruction; and congratulated 
herself, that she never learned to write message cards. 
She often applauded the noble sentiment of Plato, 
who rejoiced that he was born a man rather than a 
woman; proclaimed her approbation of Swift’s 
opinion, that women are only a higher species of 
monkeys; and confessed, that when she considered 
the behaviour, or heard the conversation, of her sex, 
she could not but forgive the Turks for suspecting 
them to want souls. 

It was the joy and pride of Camilla to have pro- 
voked, by this insolence, all the rage of hatred, and 
all the persecutions of calumny; nor was she ever 
more elevated with her own superiority, than when 
she talked of female anger, and female cunning. 
Well, says she, has nature provided that such viru- 
lence should be disabled by folly, and such cruelty 
be restrained by impotence. 

Camilla doubtless expected, that what she lost 
on one side, she should gain on the other; and im- 
agined that every male heart would be open to a 
lady, who made such generous advances to the bor- 
ders of virility. But man, ungrateful man, instead 
of springing forward to meet her, shrunk back at her 
approach. She was persecuted by the ladies as a 
deserter, and at best received by the men only as a 
fugitive. I, for my part, amused myself awhile with 
her fopperies, but novelty soon gave way to detes- 


tation, for nothing out of the common order of 
Von. 3—2 17 


THE RAMBLER 


nature can be long borne. I had no inclination to a 
wife who had the ruggedness of a man without his 
force, and the ignorance of a woman without her 
softness; nor could I think my quiet and honour 
to be entrusted to such audacious virtue as was 
hourly courting danger, and soliciting assault. 

My next mistress was Nitella, a lady of gentle 
mien, and soft voice, always speaking to approve, 
and ready to receive direction from those with 
whom chance had brought her into company. In 
Nitella I promised myself an easy friend, with 
whom I might loiter away the day without dis- 
turbance or altercation. I therefore soon resolved to 
address her, but was discouraged from prosecuting 
my courtship, by observing, that her apartments 
were superstitiously regular; and that, unless she 
had notice of my visit, she was never to be seen. 
There is a kind of anxious cleanliness which I have 
always noted as the characteristick of a slattern; it 
is the superfluous scrupulosity of guilt, dreading 
discovery, and shunning suspicion: it is the violence 
of an effort against habit, which, being impelled by 
external motives, cannot stop at the middle point. 

Nitella was always tricked out rather with nicety 
than elegance; and seldom could forbear to discover, 
by her uneasiness and constraint, that her attention 
was burdened, and her imagination engrossed: I 
therefore concluded, that being only occasionally 
and ambitiously dressed, she was not familiarized to 
her own ornaments. There are so many competitors 
for the fame of cleanliness, that it is not hard to 

18 


THE RAMBLER 


gain information of those that fail, from those that 
desire to excel: I quickly found that Nitella passed 
her time between finery and dirt; and was always 
in a wrapper, nightcap, and slippers, when she was 
not decorated for immediate show. 

I was then led by my evil destiny to Charybdis, 
who never neglected an opportunity of seizing a 
new prey when it came within her reach. I thought 
myself quickly made happy by permission to attend 
her to publick places; and pleased my own vanity 
with imagining the envy which I should raise in a 
thousand hearts, by appearing as the acknowledged 
favourite of Charybdis. She soon after hinted her 
intention to take a ramble for a fortnight, into a 
part of the kingdom which she had never seen. I 
solicited the happiness of accompanying her, which, 
after a short reluctance, was indulged me. She had 
no other curiosity on her journey, than after all pos- 
sible means of expense; and was every moment 
taking occasion to mention some delicacy, which I 
knew it my duty upon such notices to procure. 

After our return, being now more familiar, she 
told me, whenever we met, of some new diversion; 
at night she had notice of a charming company 
that would breakfast in the gardens; and in the 
morning had been informed of some new song in 
the opera, some new dress at the playhouse, or some 
performer at a concert whom she longed to hear. 
Her intelligence was such, that there never was a 
show, to which she did not summon me on the 
second day; and as she hated a crowd, and could 

19 


THE RAMBLER 


not go alone, I was obliged to attend at some in- 
termediate hour, and pay the price of a whole com- 
pany. When we passed the streets, she was often 
charmed with some trinket in the toy-shops; and 
from moderate desires of seals and snuff-boxes, rose, 
by degrees, to gold and diamonds. I now began to 
find the smile of Charybdis too costly for a private 
purse, and added one more to six and forty lovers, 
whose fortune and patience her rapacity had 
exhausted. 

Imperia then took possession of my affections; 
but kept them only for a short time. She had newly 
inherited a large fortune, and having spent the early 
part of her life in the perusal of romances, brought 
with her into the gay world all the pride of Cleo- 
patra; expected nothing less than vows, altars, and 
sacrifices; and thought her charms dishonoured, and 
her power infringed, by the softest opposition to 
her sentiments, or the smallest transgression of her 
commands. Time might indeed cure this species of 
pride in a mind not naturally undiscerning, and 
vitiated only by false representations; but the oper- 
ations of time are slow; and I therefore left her to 
grow wise at leisure, or to continue in errour at her 
own expense. 

Thus I have hitherto, in spite of myself, passed 
my life in frozen celibacy. My friends, indeed, 
often tell me, that I flatter my imagination with 
higher hopes than human nature can gratify; that 
I dress up an ideal charmer in all the radiance of 
perfection, and then enter the world to look for the 

20 


THE RAMBLER 


same excellence in corporeal beauty. But surely, 
Mr. Rambler, it is not madness to hope for some 
terrestrial lady unstained by the spots which I have 
been describing; at least I am resolved to pursue 
my search; for I am so far from thinking meanly 
of marriage, that I believe it able to afford the 
highest happiness decreed to our present state; 
and if, after all these miscarriages, I find a woman 
that fills up my expectation, you shall hear once’ 
more from, Y 
ours, &e. 


HYMENAEUS. 


a nreaene 127 


No. 116. SATURDAY, APRIL 97, 1751 


Optat ephippia bos piger: optat arare caballus. 
Hor. Lib. i. Ep. xiv. 43. 
Thus the slow ox would gaudy trappings claim; 


The sprightly horse would plough. Francis, 





TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


WAS the second son of a country gentleman by 

the daughter of a wealthy citizen of London. My 
father having by his marriage freed the estate from 
a heavy mortgage, and paid his sisters their portions, 
thought himself discharged from all obligation to 
further thought, and entitled to spend the rest of his 
life in rural pleasures. He therefore spared nothing 
that might contribute to the completion of his 
felicity ; he procured the best guns and horses that 
the kingdom could supply, paid large salaries to his 
groom and huntsman, and became the envy of the 
country for the discipline of his hounds. But, above 

21 


THE RAMBLER 


all his other attainments, he was eminent for a breed 
of pointers and setting-dogs, which by long and 
vigilant cultivation he had so much improved, that 
not a partridge or heathcock could rest in security, 
and game of whatever species that dared to light 
upon his manor, was beaten down by his shot, or 
covered with his nets. 

My elder brother was very early initiated in the 
chace, and, at an age when other boys are creeping’ 
lke snails unwillingly to school, he could wind the 
horn, beat the bushes, bound over hedges, and swim 
rivers. When the huntsman one day broke his leg, 
he supplied his place with equal abilities, and came 
home with the scut in his hat, amidst the acclama- 
tions of the whole village. I being either delicate or 
timorous, less desirous of honour, or less capable of 
sylvan heroism, was always the favourite of my 
mother; because I kept my coat clean, and my com- 
plexion free from freckles, and did not come home, 
like my brother, mired and tanned, nor carry corn 
in my hat to the horse, nor bring dirty curs into 
the parlour. 

My mother had not been taught to amuse herself 
with books, and being much inclined to despise the 
ignorance and barbarity of the country ladies, dis- 
dained to learn their sentiments or conversation, and 
had made no addition to the notions which she had 
brought from the precincts of Cornhill. She was, 
therefore, always recounting the glories of the city; 
enumerating the succession of mayors; celebrating 
the magnificence of the banquets at Guildhall; and 

22 


THE RAMBLER 


relating the civilities paid her at the companies’ 
feasts by men of whom some are now made alder- 
men, some have fined for sheriffs, and none are worth 
less than forty thousand pounds. She frequently dis- 
played her father’s greatness; told of the large bills 
which he had paid at sight; of the sums for which 
his word would pass upon the Exchange; the heaps 
of gold which he used on Saturday night to toss 
about with a shovel; the extent of his warehouse, 
and the strength of his doors; and when she relaxed 
her imagination with lower subjects, described the 
furniture of their country-house, or repeated the wit 
of the clerks and porters. 

By these narratives I was fired with the splendour 
and dignity of London, and of trade. I therefore 
devoted myself to a shop, and warmed my imagi- 
nation from year to year with inquiries about the 
privileges of a freeman, the power of the common 
council, the dignity of a wholesale dealer, and the 
grandeur of mayoralty, to which my mother assured 
me that many had arrived who began the world 
with less than myself. 

I was very impatient to enter into a path, which 
led to such honour and felicity; but was forced for 
a time to endure some repression of my eagerness, 
for it was my grandfather’s maxim, that a young 
man seldom makes much money, who is out of his time 
before two-and-twenty. They thought it necessary, 
therefore, to keep me at home till the proper age, 
without any other employment than that of learn- 
ing merchants’ accounts, and the art of regulating 

23 


THE RAMBLER 


books; but at length the tedious days elapsed, I 
was transplanted to town, and, with great satisfac- 
tion to myself, bound to a haberdasher. 

My master, who had no conception of any virtue, 
merit, or dignity, but that of being rich, had all the 
good qualities which naturally arise from a close and 
unwearied attention to the main chance; his desire 
to gain wealth was so well tempered by the vanity 
of shewing it, that without any other principle of 
action, he lived in the esteem of the whole com- 
mercial world; and was always treated with respect 
by the only men whose good opinion he valued or 
solicited, those who were universally allowed to be 
richer than himself. 

By his instructions I learned in a few weeks to 
handle a yard with great dexterity, to wind tape 
neatly upon the ends of my fingers, and to make up 
parcels with exact frugality of paper and packthread ; 
and soon caught from my fellow-apprentices the 
true grace of a counter-bow, the careless air with 
which a small pair of scales is to be held between 
the fingers, and the vigour and sprightliness with 
which the box, after the riband has been cut, is re- 
turned into its place. Having no desire of any 
higher employment, and therefore applying all my 
powers to the knowledge of my trade, I was 
quickly master of all that could be known, became 
a critick in small wares, contrived new variations 
of figures, and new mixtures of colours, and was 
sometimes consulted by the weavers when they pro- 
jected fashions for the ensuing spring. 

24 


THE RAMBLER 


With all these accomplishments, in the fourth 
year of my apprenticeship, I paid a visit to my 
friends in the country, where I expected to be re- 
ceived as a new ornament of the family, and con- 
sulted by the neighbouring gentlemen as a master 
of pecuniary knowledge, and by the ladies as an 
oracle of the mode. But, unhappily, at the first pub- 
lick table to which I was invited, appeared a student 
of the Temple, and an officer of the guards, who 
looked upon me with a smile of contempt, which 
destroyed at once all my hopes of distinction, so that 
I durst hardly raise my eyes for fear of encountering 
their superiority of mien. Nor was my courage re- 
vived by any opportunities of displaying my know]l- 
edge; for the templar entertained the company for 
part of the day with historical narratives and political 
observations; and the colonel afterwards detailed 
the adventures of a birth-night, told the claims and 
expectations of the courtiers, and gave an account 
of assemblies, gardens, and diversions. I, indeed, 
essayed to fill up a pause in a parliamentary debate 
with a faint mention of trade and Spaniards; and 
once attempted, with some warmth, to correct a 
gross mistake about a silver breast-knot ; but neither 
of my antagonists seemed to think a reply necessary ; 
they resumed their discourse without emotion, and 
again engrossed the attention of the company; nor 
did one of the ladies appear desirous to know my 
opinion of her dress, or to hear how long the car- 
nation shot with white, that was then new amongst 
them, had been antiquated in town. 

25 


THE RAMBLER 


As I knew that neither of these gentlemen had 
more money than myself, I could not discover what 
had depressed me in their presence; nor why they 
were considered by others as more worthy of atten- 
tion and respect; and therefore resolved, when we 
met again, to rouse my spirit, and force myself into 
notice. I went very early to the next weekly meet- 
ing, and was entertaining a small circle very success- 
fully with a minute representation of my lord 
mayor’s show, when the colonel entered careless 
and gay, sat down with a kind of unceremonious 
civility, and without appearing to intend any inter- 
ruption, drew my audience away to the other part 
of the room, to which I had not the courage to 
follow them. Soon after came in the lawyer, not in- 
deed with the same attraction of mien, but with 
greater powers of language: and by one or other 
the company was so happily amused, that I was 
neither heard nor seen, nor was able to give any 
other proof of my existence than that I put round 
the glass, and was in my turn permitted to name 
the toast. 

My mother, indeed, endeavoured to comfort me 
in my vexation, by telling me, that perhaps these 
showy talkers were hardly able to pay every one 
his own; that he who has money in his pocket need 
not care what any man says of him; that, if I 
minded my trade, the time will come when lawyers 
and soldiers would be glad to borrow out of my 
purse; and that it is fine, when a man can set his 
hands to his sides, and say he is worth forty thousand 

26 


THE RAMBLER 


pounds every day of the year. These and many 
more such consolations and encouragements, I re- 
ceived from my good mother, which, however, did 
not much allay my uneasiness; for having by some 
accident heard, that the country ladies despised her 
as a cit, I had therefore no longer much reverence 
for her opinions, but considered her as one whose 
ignorance and prejudice had hurried me, though 
without ill intentions, into a state of meanness and 
ignominy, from which I could not find any possi- 
bility of rising to the rank which my ancestors had 
always held. 

I returned, however, to my master, and busied 
myself among thread, and silks, and laces, but with- 
out my former cheerfulness and alacrity. I had now 
no longer any felicity in contemplating the exact 
disposition of my powdered curls, the equal plaits 
of my ruffles, or the glossy blackness of my shoes; 
nor heard with my former elevation those compli- 
ments which ladies sometimes condescended to pay 
me upon my readiness in twisting a paper, or count- 
ing out the change. The term of Young Man, with 
which I was sometimes honoured, as I carried a 
parcel to the door of a coach, tortured my imagi- 
nation; I grew negligent of my person, and sullen 
in my temper; often mistook the demands of the 
customers, treated their caprices and objections 
with contempt, and received and dismissed them 
with surly silence. 

My master was afraid lest the shop should suffer 
by this change of my behaviour; and, therefore, 

27 


THE RAMBLER 


after some expostulations, posted me in the ware- 
house, and preserved me from the danger and re- 
proach of desertion, to which my discontent would 
certainly have urged me, had I continued any longer 
behind the counter. 

In the sixth year of my servitude my brother 
died of drunken joy, for having run down a fox 
that had baffled all the packs in the province. I was 
now heir, and with the hearty consent of my master 
commenced gentleman. The adventures in which 
my new character engaged me shall be communi- 
cated in another letter, by, Sir, 


Yours, &c. 
MISOCAPELUS. 


No. 117. TUESDAY, APRIL 30, 1751 


"Oooay éx Odsburo pépacay Oger abtap ex” 0aan 
ITjhcov etvoorvddoy, tv obdpavos dpBatos e?n. 
Homer, Od. V. 314. 


The gods they challenge, and affect the skies: 
Heav’d on Olympus tott’ring Ossa stood; 
On Ossa, Pelion nods with all his wood. Pore. 


SIR, TO THE RAMBLER. 


OTHING has more retarded the advancement 
of learning than the disposition of vulgar minds 
to ridicule and vilify what they cannot comprehend. 
All industry must be excited by hope; and as the 
student often proposes no other reward to himself 
than praise, he is easily discouraged by contempt 
and insult. He who brings with him into a clamor- 
ous multitude the timidity of recluse speculation, 
28 


THE RAMBLER 


and has never hardened his front in publick life, or 
accustomed his passions to the vicissitudes and acci- 
dents, the triumphs and defeats of mixed conversa- 
tion, will blush at the stare of petulant incredulity, 
and suffer himself to be driven by a burst of laughter, 
from the fortresses of demonstration. The mechanist 
will be afraid to assert before hardy contradiction, 
the possibility of tearing down bulwarks with a 
silk-worm’s thread; and the astronomer of relating 
the rapidity of light, the distance of the fixed stars, 
and the height of the lunar mountains. 

If I could by any efforts have shaken off this 
cowardice, I had not sheltered myself under a bor- 
rowed name, nor applied to you for the means of 
communicating to the publick the theory of a 
garret; a subject which, except some slight and 
transient strictures, has been hitherto neglected by 
those who were best qualified to adorn it, either for 
want of leisure to prosecute the various researches 
in which a nice discussion must engage them, or 
because it requires such diversity of knowledge, and 
such extent of curiosity, as is scarcely to be found 
in any single intellect: or perhaps others foresaw 
the tumults which would be raised against them, 
and confined their knowledge to their own breasts, 
and abandoned prejudice and folly to the direction 
of chance. 

That the professors of literature generally reside 
in the highest stories, has been immemorially ob- 
served. The wisdom of the ancients was well ac- 
quainted with the intellectual advantages of an 

29 


THE RAMBLER 


elevated situation: why else were the Muses sta- 
tioned on Olympus or Parnassus, by those who 
could with equal right have raised them bowers in 
the vale of Tempe, or erected their altars among 
the flexures of Meander? Why was Jove himself 
nursed upon a mountain? or why did the goddesses, 
when the prize of beauty was contested, try the 
cause upon the top of Ida? Such were the fictions 
by which the great masters of the earlier ages en- 
deavoured to inculcate to posterity the importance 
of a garret, which, though they had been long ob- 
scured by the negligence and ignorance of succeed- 
ing times, were well enforced by the celebrated 
symbol of Pythagoras, dvep@y mvedvtwy THY Ayw Tpocxbver ; 
‘‘when the wind blows, worship its echo.’’ This 
could not but be understood by his disciples as an 
inviolable injunction to live in a garret, which I 
have found frequently visited by the echo and the 
wind. Nor was the tradition wholly obliterated in 
the age of Augustus, for Tibullus evidently con- 
gratulates himself upon his garret, not without 
some allusion to the Pythagorean precept: 
Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem—— 


Aut, gelidas hibernus aquas quum fuderit Auster, 
Securum somnos imbre guvante sequi / Lib. i. El. i. 45. 


How sweet in sleep to pass the careless hours, 
Lull’d by the beating winds and dashing show’rs! 


And it is impossible not to discover the fondness 
of Lucretius, an earlier writer, for a garret, in his 
description of the lofty towers of serene learning, 
and of the pleasure with which a wise man looks 

30 


THE RAMBLER 


down upon the confused and erratick state of the 
world moving below him: 


Sed nil dulcius est, bene quam munita tenere 

Edita doctrina Sapientum templa serena; 

Despicere unde queas alios, passimque videre 

Errare, atque viam palanteis querere vite. Lib. ii. 7. 





*Tis sweet thy lab’ring steps to guide 

To virtue’s heights, with wisdom well supplied, 

And all the magazines of learning fortified: 

From thence to look below on human kind, 

Bewilder’d in the maze of life, and blind. DryDeEn. 

The institution has, indeed, continued to our own 

time; the garret is still the usual receptacle of the 
philosopher and poet; but this, like many ancient 
customs, is perpetuated only by an accidental imi- 
tation, without knowledge of the original reason for 
which it was established. 


Causa latet; res est notissima. 


The cause is secret, but th’ effect is known. ADDISON. 


Conjectures have, indeed, been advanced concern- 
ing these habitations of literature, but without 
much satisfaction to the judicious inquirer. Some 
have imagined, that the garret is generally chosen 
by the wits as most easily rented; and concluded 
that no man rejoices in his aérial abode, but on the 
days of payment. Others suspect, that a garret is 
chiefly convenient, as it is remoter than any other 
part of the house from the outer door, which is often 
observed to be infested by visitants, who talk in- 
cessantly of beer, or linen, or a coat, and repeat 
the same sounds every morning, and sometimes 
again in the afternoon, without any variation, except 

31 


THE RAMBLER 


that they grow daily more importunate and clamor- 
ous, and raise their voices in time from mournful 
murmurs to raging vociferations. This eternal mo- 
notony is always detestable to a man whose chief 
pleasure is to enlarge his knowledge, and vary his 
ideas. Others talk of freedom from noise, and ab- 
straction from common business or amusements; - 
and some, yet more visionary, tell us, that the facul- 
ties are enlarged by open prospects, and that the 
fancy is at more liberty, when the eye ranges without 
confinement. 

These conveniences may perhaps all be found in 
a well-chosen garret; but surely they cannot be 
supposed sufficiently important to have operated 
unvariably upon different climates, distant ages, and 
separate nations. Of an universal practice, there 
must still be presumed an universal cause, which, 
however recondite and abstruse, may be perhaps 
reserved to make me illustrious by its discovery, 
and you by its promulgation. 

It is universally known that the faculties of the 
. mind are invigorated or weakened by the state of 
the body, and that the body is in a great measure 
regulated by the various compressions of the ambient 
element. The effects of the air in the production or 
cure of corporeal maladies have been acknowledged 
from the time of Hippocrates; but no man has yet 
sufficiently considered how far it may influence the 
operations of the genius, though every day affords 
instances of local understanding, of wits and reason- 
ers, whose faculties are adapted to some single spot, 

32 


THE RAMBLER 


and who, when they are removed to any other place, 
sink at once into silence and stupidity. I have dis- 
covered, by a long series of observations, that in- 
vention and elocution suffer great impediments from 
dense and impure vapours, and that the tenuity of 
a defecated air at a proper distance from the surface 
of the earth, accelerates the fancy, and sets at liberty 
those intellectual powers which were before shackled 
by too strong attraction, and unable to expand 
themselves under the pressure of a gross atmosphere. 
I have found dulness to quicken into sentiment in 
a thin ether, as water, though not very hot, boils 
in a receiver partly exhausted ; and heads, in appear- 
ance empty, have teemed with notions upon rising 
ground, as the flaccid sides of a football would have 
swelled out into stiffness and extension. 

For this reason I never think myself qualified to 
judge decisively of any man’s faculties, whom I have 
only known in one degree of elevation; but take 
some opportunity of attending him from the cellar 
to the garret, and try upon him all the various de- 
grees of rarefaction and condensation, tension and 
laxity. If he is neither vivacious aloft, nor serious 
below, I then consider him as hopeless; but as it 
seldom happens, that I do not find the temper to 
which the texture of his brain is fitted, I accom- 
modate him in time with a tube of mercury, first 
marking the points most favourable to his intellects, 
according to rules which I have long studied, and 
which I may, perhaps, reveal to mankind in a com- 


plete treatise of barometrical pneumatology. 
Vou. 3—3 33 


THE RAMBLER 


Another cause of the gaiety and sprightliness of 
the dwellers in garrets is probably the increase 
of that vertiginous motion, with which we are carried 
round by the diurnal revolution of the earth. The 
power of agitation upon the spirits is well known; 
every man has felt his heart ightened in a rapid 
vehicle, or on a galloping horse; and nothing is 
plainer, than that he who towers to the fifth story, 
is whirled through more space by every circumro- 
tation, than another that grovels upon the ground- 
floor. The nations between the tropicks are known 
to be fiery, inconstant, inventive, and fanciful; 
because, living at the utmost length of the earth’s 
diameter, they are carried about with more swift- 
ness than those whom nature has placed nearer to 
the poles; and therefore, as it becomes a wise man 
to struggle with the inconveniencies of his country, 
whenever celerity and acuteness are requisite, we 
must actuate our languor by taking a few turns 
round the centre in a garret. 

If you imagine that I ascribe to air and motion 
effects which they cannot produce, I desire you to 
consult your own memory, and consider whether 
you have never known a man acquire reputation in 
his garret, which, when fortune or a patron had 
placed him upon the first floor, he was unable to 
maintain; and who never recovered his former 
vigour of understanding, till he was restored to his 
original situation. That a garret will make every 
man a wit, I am very far from supposing; I know 
there are some who would continue blockheads 

34 


THE RAMBLER 


even on the summit of the Andes, or on the peak 
of Teneriffe. But let not any man be considered 
as unimprovable till this potent remedy has been 
tried; for perhaps he was formed to be great only in 
a garret, as the joiner of Aretzus was rational in no 
other place but his own shop. 

I think’a frequent removal to various distances 
from the centre, so necessary to a just estimate of 
intellectual abilities, and consequently of so great 
use in education, that if I hoped that the publick 
could be persuaded to so expensive an experiment, 
I would propose, that there should be a cavern 
dug, and a tower erected, like those which Bacon 
describes in Solomon’s house, for the expansion and 
concentration of understanding, according to the 
exigence of different employments, or constitutions. 
Perhaps some that fume away in meditations upon 
time and space in the tower, might compose tables 
of interest at a certain depth; and he that upon 
level ground stagnates in silence, or creeps in nar- 
rative, might at the height of half a mile, ferment 
into merriment, sparkle with repartee, and froth 
with declamation. 

Addison observes, that we may find the heat of 
Virgil’s climate, in some lines of his Georgick: so, 
when I read a composition, I immediately deter- 
mine the height of the author’s habitation. As an 
elaborate performance is commonly said to smell of 
the lamp, my commendation of a noble thought, a 
sprightly sally, or a bold figure, is to pronounce it 
fresh from the garret; an expression which would 

35 


THE RAMBLER 


break from me upon the perusal of most of your 
papers, did I not believe, that you sometimes quit 
the garret, and ascend into the cock-loft. 


HyYPERTATUS. 


No. 118. SATURDAY, MAY 4, 1751 





Omunes illacrymabiles 
Urgentur, ignotique longt 
Nocte. Hor. Lib. iv. Ode ix. 26. 


In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown. 
Francis. 

ICERO has, with his usual elegance and mag- 

nificence of language, attempted, in his relation 
of the dream of Scipio, to depreciate those honours 
for which he himself appears to have panted with 
restless solicitude, by shewing within what narrow 
limits all that fame and celebrity which man can 
hope for from men is circumscribed. 

‘*'You see,’’ says Africanus, pointing at the 
earth, from the celestial regions, ‘‘ that the globe 
assigned to the residence and habitation of human 
beings is of small dimensions: how then can you 
obtain from the praise of men, any glory worthy of 
a wish? Of this little world the inhabited parts are 
neither numerous nor wide; even the spots where 
men are to be found are broken by intervening 
deserts, and the nations are so separated as that 
nothing can be transmitted from one to another. 
With the people of the south, by whom the oppo- 
site part of the earth is possessed, you have no 
intercourse; and by how small a tract do you com- 

36 


THE RAMBLER 


municate with the countries of the north? The ter- 
ritory which you inhabit is no more than a scanty 
island, inclosed by a small body of water, to which 
you give the name of the great sea and the Atlan- 
tick ocean. And even in this known and frequented 
continent, what hope can you entertain, that your 
renown will pass the stream of Ganges, or the cliffs 
of Caucasus? or by whom will your name be uttered 
in the extremities of the north or south, towards 
the rising or the setting sun? So narrow is the space 
to which your fame can be propagated; and even 
there how long will it remain?’’ 

He then proceeds to assign natural causes why 
fame is not only narrow in its extent, but short in 
its duration; he observes the difference between the 
computation of time in earth and heaven, and de- 
clares, that according to the celestial chronology, 
no human honours can last a single year. 

Such are the objections by which Tully has made 
a shew of discouraging the pursuit of fame; ob- 
jections which sufficiently discover his tenderness 
and regard for his darling phantom. Homer, when 
the plan of his poem made the death of Patroclus 
necessary, resolved, at least, that he should die with 
honour; and therefore brought down against him 
the patron god of Troy, and left to Hector only 
the mean task of giving the last blow to an enemy 
whom a divine hand had disabled from resistance. 
Thus Tully ennobles fame, which he professes to 
degrade, by opposing it to celestial happiness; he 
confines not its extent but by the boundaries of 

37 


THE RAMBLER 


nature, nor contracts its duration but by represent- 
ing it small in the estimation of superior beings. 
He still admits it the highest and noblest of terres- 
trial objects, and alleges little more against it, than 
that it is neither without end, nor without limits. 

What might be the effect of these observations 
conveyed in Ciceronian eloquence to Roman un- 
derstandings, cannot be determined; but few of 
those who shall in the present age read my humble 
version will find themselves much depressed in their 
hopes, or retarded in their designs; for I am not 
inclined to believe, that they who among us pass 
their lives in the cultivation of knowledge, or acqui- 
sition of power, have very anxiously inquired what 
opinions prevail on the further banks of the Ganges, 
or invigorated any effort by the desire of spreading 
their renown among the clans of Caucasus. The 
hopes and fears of modern minds are content to 
range in a narrower compass; a single nation, and a 
few years, have generally sufficient amplitude to fill 
our imaginations. 

A. little consideration will indeed teach us, that 
fame has other limits than mountains and oceans; 
and that he who places happiness in the frequent 
repetition of his name, may spend his life in propa- 
gating it, without any danger of weeping for new 
worlds, or necessity of passing the Atlantick sea. 

The numbers to whom any real and perceptible 
good or evil can be derived by the greatest power, 
or most active diligence, are inconsiderable; and 
where neither benefit nor mischief operate, the only 

38 








THE RAMBLER 


motive to the mention or remembrance of others is 
curiosity ; a passion, which, though in some degree 
universally associated to reason, is easily confined, 
overborne, or diverted from any particular object. 

Among the lower classes of mankind, there will 
be found very little desire of any other knowledge, 
than what may contribute immediately to the relief 
of some pressing uneasiness, or the attainment of 
some near advantage. The Turks are said to hear 
with wonder a proposal to walk out, only that they 
may walk back; and inquire why any man should 
labour for nothing: so those whose condition has 
always restrained them to the contemplation of 
their own necessities, and who have been accus- 
tomed to look forward only to a small distance, 
will scarcely understand, why nights and days 
should be spent in studies, which end in new studies, 
and which, according to Malherbe’s observation, do 
not tend to lessen the price of bread; nor will the 
trader or manufacturer easily be persuaded, that 
much pleasure can arise from the mere knowledge 
of actions, performed in remote regions, or in dis- 
tant times; or that any thing can deserve their 
inquiry, of which, xAgog olov axodopsy, od0€ te tOpev, WE CaN 
only hear the report, but which cannot influence 
our lives by any consequences. 

The truth is, that very few have leisure from in- 
dispensable business, to employ their thoughts upon 
narrative or characters; and among those to whom 
fortune has given the liberty of living more by their 
own choice, many create to themselves engage- 

39 


THE RAMBLER 


ments, by the indulgence of some petty ambition, 
the admission of some insatiable desire, or the toler- 
ation of some predominant passion. The man whose 
whole wish is to accumulate money, has no other 
care than to collect interest, to estimate securities, 
and to engage for mortgages: the lover disdains to 
turn his ear to any other name than that of Corinna; 
and the courtier thinks the hour lost which is not 
spent in promoting his interest, and facilitating his 
advancement. The adventures of valour, and the 
discoveries of science, will find a cold reception, 
when they are obtruded upon an attention thus busy 
with its favourite amusement, and impatient of 
interruption or disturbance. 

But not only such employments as seduce atten- 
tion by appearances of dignity, or promises of 
happiness, may restrain the mind from excursion 
and inquiry ; curiosity may be equally destroyed by 
less formidable enemies; it may be dissipated in 
trifles, or congealed by indolence. The sportsman 
and the man of dress have their heads filled with a 
fox or a horse-race, a feather or a ball; and live in 
ignorance of every thing beside, with as much con- 
tent as he that heaps up gold, or solicits preferment, 
digs the field, or beats the anvil; and some yet lower 
in the ranks of intellect, dream out their days with- 
out pleasure or business, without joy or sorrow, nor 
ever rouse from their lethargy to hear or think. 

Even of those who have dedicated themselves to 
knowledge, the far greater part have confined their 
curiosity to a few objects, and have very little in- 

40 





THE RAMBLER 


clination to promote any fame, but that which their 
own studies entitle them to partake. The naturalist 
has no desire to know the opinions or conjectures 
of the philologer: the botanist looks upon the as- 
tronomer as a being unworthy of his regard: the 
lawyer scarcely hears the name of a physician with- 
out contempt; and he that is growing great and 
happy by electrifying a bottle, wonders how the 
world can be engaged by trifling prattle about war 
or peace. 

If, therefore, he that imagines the world filled 
with his actions and praises, shall subduct from the 
number of his encomiasts, all those who are placed 
below the flight of fame, and who hear in the valleys 
of life no voice but that of necessity ; all those who 
imagine themselves too important to regard him, 
and consider the mention of his name as an usurpa- 
tion of their time; all who are too much or too little 
pleased with themselves, to attend to any thing ex- 
ternal; all who are attracted by pleasure, or chained 
down by pain, to unvaried ideas; all who are with- 
held from attending his triumph by different pur- 
suits; and all who slumber in universal negligence; 
he will find his renown straitened by nearer bounds 
than the rocks of Caucasus, and perceive that no 
man can be venerable or formidable, but to a small 
part of his fellow-creatures. 

That we may not languish in our endeavours 
after excellence, it is necessary, that, as Africanus 
counsels his descendant, ‘‘we raise our eyes to 
higher prospects, and contemplate our future and 

41 


THE RAMBLER 


eternal state, without giving up our hearts to the 
praise of crowds, or fixing our hopes on such rewards 
as human power can bestow. ”’ 


No. 119. TUESDAY, MAY 7, 1751 


Lliacos intra muros peccatur, et extra. 
Hor. Lib. i. Ep. ii. 16. 


Faults lay on either side the Trojan tow’rs. Expuinston. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


A® notwithstanding all that wit, or malice, or 
pride, or prudence will be able to suggest, men 
and women must at last pass their lives together, I 
have never therefore thought those writers friends 
to human happiness, who endeavour to excite in 
either sex a general contempt or suspicion of the 
other. To persuade them who are entering the 
world, and looking abroad for a suitable associate, 
that all are equally vicious, or equally ridiculous; 
that they who trust are certainly betrayed, and they 
who esteem are always disappointed; is not to 
awaken judgment, but to inflame temerity. With- 
out hope there can be no caution. Those who are 
convinced, that no reason for preference can be 
found, will never harass their thoughts with doubt 
and deliberation; they will resolve, since they are 
doomed to misery, that no needless anxiety shall 
disturb their quiet; they will plunge at hazard into 
the crowd, and snatch the first hand that shall be 
held toward them. 

That the world is over-run with vice, cannot be 

42 


THE RAMBLER 


denied ; but vice, however predominant, has not yet 
gained an unlimited dominion. Simple and unmin- 
gled good is not in our power, but we may generally 
escape a greater evil by suffering a less; and there- 
fore, those who undertake to initiate the young and 
ignorant in the knowledge of life, should be careful 
to inculcate the possibility of virtue and happi- 
ness, and to encourage endeavours by prospects 
of success. 

You, perhaps, do not suspect, that these are the 
sentiments of one who has been subject for many 
years to all the hardships of antiquated virginity; 
has been long accustomed to the coldness of neglect, 
and the petulance of insult; has been mortified in 
full assemblies by inquiries after forgotten fashions, 
games long disused, and wits and beauties of ancient 
renown; has been invited, with malicious importu- 
nity, to the second wedding of many acquaintances; 
has been ridiculed by two generations of coquets in 
whispers intended to be heard; and been long con- 
sidered by the airy and gay, as too venerable for 
familiarity, and too wise for pleasure. It is indeed 
natural for injury to provoke anger, and by contin- 
ual repetition to produce an habitual asperity; yet 
I have hitherto struggled with so much vigilance 
against my pride and my resentment, that I have 
preserved my temper uncorrupted. I have not yet 
made it any part of my employment to collect 

sentences against marriage; nor am inclined to 
, lessen the number of the few friends whom time 
_has left me, by obstructing that happiness which I 
| 43 





gy Ne . 
THE RAMBLER 


cannot partake, and venting my vexation in censures 
of the forwardness and indiscretion of girls, or the 
inconstancy, tastelessness, and perfidy of men. 

It is, indeed, not very difficult to bear that con- 
dition to which we are not contlerinsdity necessity, 
but induced by obsefvation and choice; and there- 
fore I; perhaps, have never yet felt all, the malignity 
with which a reproach, edged with th appellation 
of old maid, swells some of thos héarts in which it 
is infixed. I was not condemned in my youth to 
solitude, either by indigence or defo Diity, nor 
passed the earlier part of life without the flattery 
of courtship, and the joys of triumph. [have danced 
the round of gaiety amidst the murmurs of envy, 
and gratulations of applause; been attended from 
pleasure to pleasure by the great, the sprightly, and 
the vain; and seen my regard solicited by the obse- 
quiousness of gallantry, the gaiety of wit, and the 
timidity of love. If, therefore, I am yet a stranger 
to nuptial happiness, I suffer only the consequences 
of my own resolves, and can look back upon the 
succession of lovers, whose addresses I have rejected, 
without grief, and without malice. 

When my name first began to be inscribed upon 
glasses, I was honoured with the amorous profes- 
sions of the gay Venustulus, a gentleman, who, 
being the only son of a wealthy family, had been 
educated in all the wantonness of expense, and 
softness of effeminacy. He was beautiful in his per- 
son, and easy in his address, and, therefore, soon 


gained upon my eye at an age when the sight is 
44, 


THE RAMBLER 


very little over-ruled by the understanding. He had 
not any power in himself of gladdening or amusing ; 
but supplied his want of conversation by threats and 
diversions; and his chief art of courtship was to fill 
the mind of his mistress with parties, rambles, 
musick, and shows. We were often engaged in short 
excursions to gardens and seats, and I was for a 
while pleased with the care which Venustulus dis- 
covered in securing me from any appearance of 
danger, or possibility of mischance. He never failed 
to recommend caution to his coachman, or to 
promise the waterman a reward if he landed us 
safe; and always contrived to return by day-light 
for fear of robbers. This extraordinary solicitude 
was represented for a time as the effect of his ten- 
derness for me; but fear is too strong for continued 
hypocrisy. I soon discovered, that Venustulus had 
the cowardice as well as elegance of a female. His 
imagination was perpetually clouded with terrours, 
and he could scarcely refrain from screams and out- 
cries at any accidental surprise. He durst not enter 
a room if a rat was heard behind the wainscot, nor 
cross a field where the cattle were frisking in the 
sunshine; the least breeze that waved upon the 
river was a storm, and every clamour in the street 
was acry of fire. I have seen him lose his colour 
when my squirrel had broke his chain; and was 
forced to throw water in his face on the sudden en- 
trance of a black cat. Compassion once obliged me 
to drive away with my fan, a beetle that kept him 
| in distress, and chide off a dog that yelped at his 
45 














THE RAMBLER 


heels, to which he would gladly have given up me 
to facilitate his own escape. Women naturally ex- 
pect defence and protection from a lover or a hus- 
band, and therefore you will not think me culpable 
in refusing a wretch, who would have burdened life 
with unnecessary fears, and flown to me for that 
succour which it was his duty to have given. 

My next lover was Fungoso, the son of a stock- 
jobber, whose visits my friends, by the importunity 
of persuasion, prevailed upon me to allow. Fungoso 
was no very suitable companion; for having been 
bred in a counting-house, he spoke a language un- 
intelligible in any other place. He had no desire of 
any reputation but that of an acute prognosticator 
of the changes in the funds; nor had any means of 
raising merriment, but by telling how somebody 
was over-reached in a bargain by his father. He was, 
however, a youth of great sobriety and prudence, 
and frequently informed us how carefully he would 
improve my fortune. I was not in haste to conclude 
the match, but was so much awed by my parents, 
that I durst not dismiss him, and might perhaps 
have been doomed for ever to the grossness of ped- 
lary, and the jargon of usury, had not a fraud been 
discovered in the settlement, which set me free from 
the persecution of grovelling pride, and pecuniary 
impudence. 

I was afterwards six months without any partic- 
ular notice, but at last became the idol of the 
glittering Flosculus, who prescribed the mode of 
embroidery to all the fops of his time, and varied 

AGB 


THE RAMBLER 


at pleasure the cock of every hat, and the sleeve of 
every coat that appeared in fashionable assemblies. 
Flosculus made some impression upon my heart by 
a compliment which few ladies can hear without 
emotion; he commended my skill in dress, my judg- 
ment in suiting colours, and my art in disposing 
ornaments. But Flosculus was too much engaged 
by his own elegance, to be sufficiently attentive to 
the duties of a lover, or to please with varied praise 
an ear made delicate by riot of adulation. He ex- 
pected to be repaid part of his tribute, and staid 
away three days, because I neglected to take netice 
of a new coat. I quickly found, that Flosculus was 
rather a rival than an admirer; and that we should 
probably live in a perpetual struggle of emulous 
finery, and spend our lives in stratagems to be first 
in the fashion. 

I had soon after the honour at a feast of attract- 
ing the eyes of Dentatus, one of those human beings 
whose only happiness is to dine. Dentatus regaled 
me with foreign varieties, told me of measures that 
he had laid for procuring the best cook in France, 
and entertained me with bills of fare, prescribed the 
arrangement of dishes, and taught me two sauces 
invented by himself. At length, such is the un- 
certainty of human happiness, I declared my opinion 
too hastily upon a pie made under his own direction ; 
after which he grew so cold and negligent, that he 
was easily dismissed. 

Many other lovers, or pretended lovers, I have 

had the honour to lead a while in triumph. But 
AT 


THE RAMBLER 


two of them I drove from me, by discovering that 
they had no taste or knowledge in musick; three I 
dismissed, because they were drunkards; two, be- 
cause they paid their addresses at the same time to 
other ladies; and six, because they attempted to in- 
fluence my choice by bribing my maid. Two more 
I discarded at the second visit for obscene allusions; 
and five for drollery on religion. In the latter part 
of my reign, I sentenced two to perpetual exile, for 
offering me settlements, by which the children of a 
former marriage would have been injured; four, for 
representing falsely the value of their estates; three 
for concealing their debts; and one, for raising the 
rent of a decrepit tenant. 

I have now sent you a narrative, which the ladies 
may oppose to the tale of Hymenezus. I mean not 
to depreciate the sex which has produced poets and 
philosophers, heroes and martyrs; but will not suffer 
the rising generation of beauties to be dejected by 
partial satire; or to imagine that those who censured 
them have not likewise their follies, and their vices. 
_I do not yet believe happiness unattainable in mar- 
riage, though I have never yet been able to find a 
man, with whom I could prudently venture an in- 
| separable union. It is necessary to expose faults, 
that their deformity may be seen; but the reproach 
' ought not to be extended beyond the crime, nor 
either sex to be contemned, because some women, 
or men, are indelicate or dishonest. : 

I am, &e. 


TRANQUILLA. 
43 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 120. SATURDAY, MAY 11, 1751 


Redditum Cyri solio Phraaten, 

Dissidens plebi, numero beatorum 

Eximit virtus, populumque falsis 
Dedocet uti 





Vocibus. Hor. Lib. ii. Od. ii. 17. 


True virtue can the crowd unteach 

Their false mistaken forms of speech; 

Virtue, to crowds a foe profest, 

Disdains to number with the blest 

Phraates, by his slaves ador’d, 

And to the Parthian crown restor’d. Francis. 


N the reign of Jenghiz Can, conqueror of the 

east, in the city of Samarcand, lived Nouradin 
the merchant, renowned throughout all the regions 
of India, for the extent of his commerce, and the 
integrity of his dealings. His warehouses were filled 
with all the commodities of the remotest nations; 
every rarity of nature, every curiosity of art, what- 
ever was valuable, whatever was useful, hasted to 
his hand. The streets were crowded with his car- 
riages; the sea was covered with his ships; the 
streams of Oxus were wearied with conveyance, and 
every breeze of the sky wafted wealth to Nouradin. 

At length Nouradin felt himself seized with a 
slow malady, which he first endeavoured to divert 
by application, and afterwards to relieve by luxury 
and indulgence; but finding his strength every day 
less, he was at last terrified, and called for help upon 
the sages of physick; they filled his apartments with 
alexipharmicks, restoratives, and essential virtues; 


the pearls of the ocean were dissolved, the spices of 
VoL. 3—4 49 


THE RAMBLER 


Arabia were distilled, and all the powers of nature 
were employed to give new spirits to his nerves, 
and new balsam to his blood. Nouradin was for 
some time amused with promises, invigorated with 
cordials, or soothed with anodynes; but the disease 
preyed upon his vitals, and he soon discovered with 
indignation, that health was not to be bought. He 
was confined to his chamber, deserted by his phy- 
sicians, and rarely visited by his friends; but his 
unwillingness to die flattered him long with hopes 
of life. 

At length, having passed the night in tedious 
languor, he called to him Almamoulin, his only 
son, and dismissing his attendants, “‘ My son,’’ says 
he, ‘‘behold here the weakness and fragility of 
man; look backward a few days, thy father was 
great and happy, fresh as the vernal rose, and strong 
as the cedar of the mountain; the nations of Asia 
drank his dews, and art and commerce delighted in 
his shade. Malevolence beheld me, and sighed: ‘ His 
root, ’ she cried, ‘is fixed in the depths; it is watered 
by the fountains of Oxus; it sends out branches 
afar, and bids defiance to the blast; prudence re- 
clines against his trunk, and prosperity dances on 
his top.’ Now, Almamoulin, look upon me wither- 
ing and prostrate; look upon me, and attend. I 
have trafficked, I have prospered, I have rioted in 
gain; my house is splendid, my servants are numer- 
ous; yet I displayed only a small part of my riches; 
the rest, which I was hindered from enjoying by 
the fear of raising envy, or tempting rapacity, I have 

50 


THE RAMBLER 


piled in towers, I have buried in caverns, I have 
hidden in secret repositories, which this scroll will 
discover. My purpose was, after ten months more 
spent in commerce, to have withdrawn my wealth 
to a safer country; to have given seven years to 
delight and festivity, and the remaining part of my 
days to solitude and repentance; but the hand of 
death is upon me; a frigorifick torpor encroaches 
upon my veins; I am now leaving the produce of 
my toil, which it must be thy business to enjoy 
with wisdom.’’ The thought of leaving his wealth 
filled Nouradin with such grief, that he fell into 
convulsions, became delirious, and expired. 

Almamoulin, who loved his father, was touched 
a while with honest sorrow, and sat two hours in 
profound meditation, without perusing the paper 
which he held in his hand. He then retired to his 
own chamber, as overborne with affliction, and there 
read the inventory of his new possessions, which 
swelled his heart with such transports, that he no 
longer lamented his father’s death. He was now 
sufficiently composed to order a funeral of modest 
magnificence, suitable at once to the rank of Nou- 
radin’s profession, and the reputation of his wealth. 
The two next nights he spent in visiting the tower 
and the caverns, and found the treasures greater to 
his eye than to his imagination. 

Almamoulin had been bred to the practice of 
exact frugality, and had often looked with envy 
on the finery and expenses of other young men: 
he therefore believed, that happiness was now in his 

51 


THE RAMBLER 


power, since he could obtain all of which he had 
hitherto been accustomed to regret the want. He 
resolved to give a loose to his desires, to revel in 
enjoyment, and feel pain or uneasiness no more. 

He immediately procured a splendid equipage, 
dressed his servants in rich embroidery, and covered 
his horses with golden caparisons. He showered 
down silver on the populace, and suffered their ac- 
clamations to swell him with insolence. The nobles 
saw him with anger, the wise men of the state com- 
bined against him, the leaders of armies threatened 
his destruction. Almamoulin was informed of his 
danger: he put on the robe of mourning in the 
presence of his enemies, and appeased them with 
gold, and gems, and supplication. 

He then sought to strengthen himself by an alli- 
ance with the princes of Tartary, and offered the 
price of kingdoms for a wife of noble birth. His suit 
was generally rejected, and his presents refused; 
but the princess of Astracan once condescended to 
admit him to her presence. She received him, sitting 
on a throne, attired in the robe of royalty, and 
shining with the jewels of Golconda; command 
sparkled in her eyes, and dignity towered on her 
forehead. Almamoulin approached and trembled. 
She saw his confusion and disdained him: ‘‘ How,”’ 
says she, ‘‘dares the wretch hope my obedience, 
who thus shrinks at my glance? Retire, and enjoy 
thy riches in sordid ostentation; thou wast born to 
be wealthy, but never canst be great.’”’ 

He then contracted his desires to more private and 

52 


THE RAMBLER 


domestick pleasures. He built palaces, he laid out 
gardens”, he changed the face of the land, he trans- 
planted forests, he levelled mountains, opened pros- 
pects into distant regions, poured fountains from 
the tops of turrets, and rolled rivers through new 
channels. 

These amusements pleased him for a time; but 
languor and weariness soon invaded him. His bow- 
ers lost their fragrance, and the waters murmured 
without notice. He purchased large tracts of land 
in distant provinces, adorned them with houses of 
pleasure, and diversified them with accommodations 
for different seasons. Change of place at first relieved 
his satiety, but all the novelties of situation were 
soon exhausted; he found his heart vacant, and 
his desires, for want of external objects, ravaging 
himself. 

He therefore returned to Samarcand, and set 
open his doors to those whom idleness sends out in 
search of pleasure. His tables were always covered 
with delicacies; wines of every vintage sparkled in 
his bowls, and his lamps scattered perfumes. The 
sound of the lute, and the voice of the singer, 
chased away sadness; every hour was crowded with 
pleasure; and the day ended and began with feasts 
and dances, and revelry and merriment. Alma- 
moulin cried out, ‘‘I have at last found the use of 
riches; I am surrounded by companions, who view 
my greatness without envy; and I enjoy at once 
the raptures of popularity, and the safety of an ob- 


See Vathek. 
53 


THE RAMBLER 


scure station. What trouble can he feel, whom all 
are studious to please, that they may be repaid with 
pleasure? What danger can he dread, to whom 
every man is a friend?’’ 

Such were the thoughts of Almamoulin, as he 
looked down from a gallery upon the gay assembly 
regaling at his expense; but, in the midst of this 
soliloquy, an officer of justice entered the house, 
and in the form of legal citation, summoned Alma- 
moulin to appear before the emperor. The guests 
stood awhile aghast, then stole imperceptibly away, 
and he was led off without a single voice to witness 
his integrity. He now found one of his most frequent 
visitants accusing him of treason, in hopes of sharing 
his confiscation ; yet, unpatronized and unsupported, 
he cleared himself by the openness of innocence, 
and the consistence of truth; he was dismissed with 
honour, and his accuser perished in prison. 

Almamoulin now perceived with how little reason 
he had hoped for justice or fidelity from those who 
live only to gratify their senses; and, being now 
weary with vain experiments upon life and fruitless 
researches after felicity, he had recourse to a sage, 
who, after spending his youth in travel and obser- 
vation, had retired from all human cares, to a small 
habitation on the banks of Oxus, where he con- 
versed only with such as solicited his counsel. 
** Brother,’’ said the philosopher, ‘‘ thou hast suf- 
fered thy reason to be deluded by idle hopes, and 
fallacious appearances. Having long looked with 
desire upon riches, thou hadst taught thyself to 

54 


THE RAMBLER 


think them more valuable than nature designed 
them, and to expect from them, what experience 
has now taught thee, that they cannot give. That 
they do not confer wisdom, thou mayest be con- 
vinced, by considering at how dear a price they 
tempted thee, upon thy first entrance into the 
world, to purchase the empty sound of vulgar accla- 
mation. That they cannot bestow fortitude or 
magnanimity, that man may be certain, who stood 
trembling at Astracan, before a being not naturally 
superior to himself. That they will not supply un- 
exhausted pleasure, the recollection of forsaken 
palaces, and neglected gardens, will easily inform 
thee. That they rarely purchase friends, thou didst 
soon discover, when thou wert left to stand thy 
trial uncountenanced and alone. Yet think not 
riches useless; there are purposes to which a wise 
man may be delighted to apply them; they may, 
by a rational distribution to those who want them, 
ease the pains of helpless disease, still the throbs of 
restless anxiety, relieve innocence from oppression, 
and raise imbecility to cheerfulness and vigour. 
This they will enable thee to perform, and this will 
afford the only happiness ordained for our present 
state, the confidence of Divine favour, and the hope 
of future rewards. ”’ 


55 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 121. TUESDAY, MAY 14, 1751 
O imitatores, servum pecus! Hor. Lib. i. Ep. xix. 19. 


Away, ye imitators, servile herd! ELPHINSTON. 


HAVE been informed by a letter from one of 

the universities, that among the youth from whom 
the next swarm of reasoners is to learn philosophy, 
and the next flight of beauties to hear elegies and 
sonnets, there are many, who, instead of endeavour- 
ing by books and meditation to form their own 
opinions, content themselves with the secondary 
knowledge, which a convenient bench in a coffee- 
house can supply; and without any examination or 
distinction, adopt the criticisms and remarks, which 
happen to drop from those who have risen, by merit 
or fortune, to reputation and authority. 

These humble retailers of knowledge my corres- 
pondent stigmatises with the name of Echoes; and 
seems desirous that they should be made ashamed 
of lazy submission, and animated to attempts after 
new discoveries and original sentiments. 

It is very natural for young men to be vehement, 
acrimonious, and severe. For, as they seldom com- 
prehend at once all the consequences of a position, 
or perceive the difficulties by which cooler and 
more experienced reasoners are restrained from 
confidence, they form their conclusions with great 
precipitance. Seeing nothing that can darken or 
embarrass the question, they expect to find their 


OWN opinion universally prevalent, and are inclined 
56 


THE RAMBLER 


to impute uncertainty and hesitation to want of 
honesty, rather than of knowledge. I may, perhaps, 
therefore, be reproached by my lively correspond- 
ent, when it shall be found, that I have no incli- 
nation to persecute these collectors of fortuitous 
knowledge with the severity required; yet, as I am 
now too old to be much pained by hasty censure, I 
shall not be afraid of taking into protection those 
whom I think condemned without a sufficient 
knowledge of their cause. 

He that adopts the sentiments of another, whom 
he has reason to believe wiser than himself, is only 
to be blamed when he claims the honours which 
are not due but to the author, and endeavours to 
deceive the world into praise and veneration; for, 
to learn, is the proper business of youth; and 
whether we increase our knowledge by books or by 
conversation, we are equally indebted to foreign 
assistance. 

The greater part of students are not born with 
abilities to construct systems, or advance knowl- 
edge; nor can have any hope beyond that of be- 
coming intelligent hearers in the schools of art, of 
being able to comprehend what others discover, 
and to remember what others teach. Even those to 
whom Providence hath allotted greater strength of 
understanding, can expect only to improve a single 
science. In every other part of learning, they must 
be content to follow opinions, which they are not 
able to examine; and, even in that which they claim 
as peculiarly their own, can seldom add more than 

57 


THE RAMBLER 


some small particle of knowledge, to the hereditary 
stock devolved to them from ancient times, the 
collective labour of a thousand intellects. 

In science, which, being fixed and limited, admits 
of no other variety than such as arises from new 
methods of distribution, or new arts of illustration, 
the necessity of following the traces of our prede- 
cessors is indisputably evident; but there appears no 
reason, why imagination should be subject to the 
same restraint. It might be conceived, that of those 
who profess to forsake the narrow paths of truth, 
every one may deviate towards a different point, 
since, though rectitude is uniform and fixed, obli- 
quity may be infinitely diversified. The roads of 
science are narrow, so that they who travel them, 
must either follow or meet one another; but in the 
boundless regions of possibility, which fiction claims 
for her dominion, there are surely a thousand re- 
cesses unexplored, a thousand flowers unplucked, a 
thousand fountains unexhausted, combinations of 
imagery yet unobserved, and races of ideal inhab- 
itants not hitherto described. 

Yet, whatever hope may persuade, or reason 
evince, experience can boast of very few additions 
to ancient fable. The wars of Troy, and the travels 
of Ulysses, have furnished almost all succeeding 
poets with incidents, characters, and sentiments. 
The Romans are confessed to have attempted little 
more than to display in their own tongue the inven- 
tions of the Greeks. There is, in all their writings, 
such a perpetual recurrence of allusions to the tales 

58 


THE RAMBLER 


of the fabulous age, that they must be confessed 
often to want that power of giving pleasure which 
novelty supplies; nor can we wonder that they 
excelled so much in the graces of diction, when we 
consider how rarely they were employed in search 
of new thoughts. 

The warmest admirers of the great Mantuan poet 
can extol him for little more than the skill with 
which he has, by making his hero both a traveller 
and a warrior, united the beauties of the [liad and 
the Odyssey in one composition: yet his judgment 
was perhaps sometimes overborne by his avarice of 
the Homeric treasures; and, for fear of suffering a 
sparkling ornament to be lost, he has inserted it 
where it cannot shine with its original splendour. 

When Ulysses visited the infernal regions, he 
found among the heroes that perished at Troy, his 
competitor, Ajax, who, when the arms of Achilles 
were adjudged to Ulysses, died by his own hand in 
the madness of disappointment. He still appeared 
to resent, as on earth, his loss and disgrace. Ulysses 
endeavoured to pacify him with praises and sub- 
mission; but Ajax walked away without reply. 
This passage has always been considered as emi- 
nently beautiful; because Ajax, the haughty chief, 
the unlettered soldier, of unshaken courage, of 
immovable constancy, but without the power 
of recommending his own virtues by eloquence, or 
enforcing his assertions by any other argument 
than the sword, had no way of making his anger 
known, but by gloomy sullenness and dumb feroc- 

59 


THE RAMBLER 


ity. His hatred of a man whom he conceived to 
have defeated him only by volubility of tongue, 
was therefore naturally shewn by silence more 
contemptuous and piercing than any words that so 
rude an orator could have found, and by which he 
gave his enemy no opportunity of exerting the only 
power in which he was superior. 

When /neas is sent by Virgil to the shades, he 
meets Dido the queen of Carthage, whom his per- 
fidy had hurried to the grave; he accosts her with 
tenderness and excuses; but the lady turns away 
like Ajax in mute disdain. She turns away like 
Ajax; but she resembles him in none of those quali- 
ties which give either dignity or propriety to silence. 
She might, without any departure from the tenour 
of her conduct, have burst out like other injured 
women into clamour, reproach, and denunciation; 
but Virgil had his imagination full of Ajax, and 
therefore could not prevail on himself to teach Dido 
any other mode of resentment. 

If Virgil could be thus seduced by imitation, 
there will be little hope, that common wits should 
escape; and accordingly we find, that besides the 
universal and acknowledged practice of copying the 
ancients, there has prevailed in every age a partic- 
ular species of fiction. At one time all truth was 
conveyed in allegory; at another, nothing was seen 
but in a vision: at one period all the poets followed 
sheep, and every event produced a pastoral; at 
another they busied themselves wholly in giving 
directions to a painter. 

60 


THE RAMBLER 


It is indeed easy to conceive why any fashion 
should become popular, by which idleness is fav- 
oured, and imbecility assisted; but surely no man 
of genius can much applaud himself for repeating 
a tale with which the audience is already tired, 
and which could bring no honour to any but its 
inventor. 

There are, I think, two schemes of writing, on 
which the laborious wits of the present time employ 
their faculties. One is the adaptation of sense to all 
the rhymes which our language can supply to some 
word, that makes the burden of the stanza; but this, 
as it has been only used in a kind of amorous bur- 
lesque, can scarcely be censured with much acri- 
mony. The other is the imitation of Spenser, which, 
by the influence of some men of learning and genius, 
seems likely to gain upon the age, and therefore 
deserves to be more attentively considered. 

To imitate the fictions and sentiments of Spenser 
can incur no reproach, for allegory is perhaps one 
of the most pleasing vehicles of instruction. But I 
am very far from extending the same respect to his 
diction or his stanza. His style was in his own time 
allowed to be vicious, so darkened with old words 
and peculiarities of phrase, and so remote from 
common use, that Jonson boldly pronounces him 
to have written no language. His stanza is at once 
difficult and unpleasing; tiresome to the ear by its 
uniformity, and to the attention by its length. It 
was at first formed in imitation of the Italian poets, 
without due regard to the genius of our language. 

61 


THE RAMBLER 


The Italians have little variety of termination, and 
were forced to contrive such a stanza as might 
admit the greatest number of similar rhymes; but 
our words end with so much diversity, that it is 
seldom convenient for us to bring more than two 
of the same sound together. If it be justly observed 
by Milton, that rhyme obliges poets to express 
their thoughts in improper terms, these improprie- 
ties must always be multiplied, as the difficulty of 
rhyme is increased by long concatenations. 

The imitators of Spenser are indeed not very 
rigid censors of themselves, for they seem to con- 
clude, that when they have disfigured their lines 
with a few obsolete syllables, they have accom- 
plished their design, without considering that they 
ought not only to admit old words, but to avoid 
new. The laws of imitation are broken by every 
word introduced since the time of Spenser, as the 
character of Hector is violated by quoting Aristotle 
in the play. It would, indeed, be difficult to exclude 
from a long poem all modern phrases, though it is 
easy to sprinkle it with gleanings of antiquity. Per- 
haps, however, the style of Spenser might by long 
labour be justly copied; but life is surely given us 
for higher purposes than to gather what our ances- 
tors have wisely thrown away, and to learn what is 
of no value, but because it has been forgotten. 


62 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 122. SATURDAY, MAY 18, 1751 


Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine captos 
Ducit. Ovip, Ex Pon. Lib. i. Ep. iii. 35. 


By secret charms our native land attracts. 


OTHING is more subject to mistake and 

disappointment than anticipated judgment con- 
cerning the easiness or difficulty of any undertaking, 
whether we form our opinion from the performances 
of others, or from abstracted contemplation of the 
thing to be attempted. 

Whatever is done skilfully appears to be done 
with ease; and art, when it is once matured to 
habit, vanishes from observation. We are therefore 
more powerfully excited to emulation, by those 
who have attained the highest degree of excellence, 
and whom we can therefore with least reason hope 
to equal. 

In adjusting the probability of success by a pre- 
vious consideration of the undertaking, we are 
equally in danger of deceiving ourselves. It is never 
easy, nor often possible, to comprise the series of 
any process with all its circumstances, incidents, 
and variations, in a speculative scheme. Experience 
soon shows us the tortuosities of imaginary recti- 
tude, the complications of simplicity, and the 
asperities of smoothness. Sudden difficulties often 
start up from the ambushes of art, stop the career 
of activity, repress the gaiety of confidence, and 
when we imagine ourselves almost at the end of our 


63 


THE RAMBLER 


labours, drive us back to new plans and different 
measures. 

There are many things which we every day see 
others unable to perform, and perhaps have even 
ourselves miscarried in attempting; and yet can 
hardly allow to be difficult; nor can we forbear to 
wonder afresh at every new failure, or to promise 
certainty of success to our next essay ; but when we 
try, the same hindrances recur, the same inability 
is perceived, and the vexation of disappointment 
must again be suffered. 

Of the various kinds of speaking or writing, 
which serve necessity, or promote pleasure, none 
appears so artless or easy as simple narration; for 
what should make him that knows the whole order 
and progress of an affair unable to relate it? Yet we 
hourly find such as endeavour to entertain or in- 
struct us by recitals, clouding the facts which they 
intend to illustrate, and losing themselves and their 
auditors in wilds and mazes, in digression and con- 
fusion. When we have congratulated ourselves upon 
a new opportunity of inquiry, and new means of 
information, it often happens, that without design- 
ing either deceit or concealment, without ignorance 
of the fact, or unwillingness to disclose it, the re- 
lator fills the ear with empty sounds, harasses ‘the 
attention with fruitless impatience, and disturbs 
the imagination by a tumult of events, without 
order of time, or train of consequence. 

It is natural to believe, upon the same principle, © 
that no writer has a more easy task than the his- 

64 | 








THE RAMBLER 


torian. The philosopher has the works of omnis- 
cience to examine; and is therefore engaged in 
disquisitions, to which finite intellects are utterly 
unequal. The poet trusts to his invention, and is not 
only in danger of those inconsistencies, to which 
every one is exposed by departure from truth; but 
may be censured as well for deficiencies of matter, 
as for irregularity of disposition, or impropriety of | 
ornament. But the happy historian has no other 
labour than of gathering what tradition pours down 
before him, or records treasure for his use. He has 
only the actions and designs of men like himself to 
conceive and to relate; he is not to form, but copy 
characters, and therefore is not blamed for the in- 
consistency of statesmen, the injustice of tyrants, 
or the cowardice of commanders. The difficulty of 
making variety consistent, or uniting probability 
with surprise, needs not to disturb him; the man- 
ners and actions of his personages are already fixed ; 
his materials are provided and put into his hands, 
and he is at leisure to employ all his powers in 
arranging and displaying them. 

Yet, even with these advantages, very few in 
any age have been able to raise themselves to repu- 
tation by writing histories; and among the innu- 
merable authors, who fill every nation with accounts 
of their ancestors, or undertake to transmit to 
futurity the events of their own time, the greater 
part, when fashion and novelty have ceased to rec- 
ommend them, are of no other use than chrono- 


logical memorials, which necessity may sometimes 
Vor. 3—5 65 


THE RAMBLER 


require to be consulted, but which fright away 
curiosity, and disgust delicacy. 

It is observed, that our nation, which has pro- 
duced so many authors eminent for almost every 
other species of literary excellence, has been hitherto 
remarkably barren of historical genius; and so far 
has this defect raised prejudices against us, that 
some have doubted whether an Englishman can 
stop at that mediocrity of style, or confine his mind 
to that even tenour of imagination, which narrative 
requires. 

They who can believe that nature has so capri- 
ciously distributed understanding, have surely no 
claim to the honour of serious confutation. The in- 
habitants of the same country have opposite char- 
acters in different ages; the prevalence or neglect 
of any particular study can proceed only from the 
accidental influence of some temporary cause; and 
if we have failed in history, we can have failed only 
because history has not hitherto been diligently 
cultivated. 

But how is it evident, that we have not historians 
among us, whom we may venture to place in com- 
parison with any that the neighbouring nations can 
produce? The attempt of Raleigh is deservedly 
celebrated for the labour of his researches, and the 
elegance of his style; but he has endeavoured to 
exert his judgment more than his genius, to select 
facts, rather than adorn them; and has produced 
an historical dissertation, but seldom risen to the 
majesty of history. 

66 


THE RAMBLER 


The works of Clarendon deserve more regard. 
His diction is indeed neither exact in itself, nor 
suited to the purpose of history. It is the effusion 
of a mind crowded with ideas, and desirous of im- 
parting them; and therefore always accumulating 
words, and involving one clause and sentence in 
another. But there is in his negligence a rude inar- 
tificial majesty, which, without the nicety of la- 
boured elegance, swells the mind by its plenitude 
and diffusion. His narration is not perhaps suffi- 
ciently rapid, being stopped too frequently by 
particularities, which, though they might strike the 
author who was present at the transactions, will not 
equally detain the attention of posterity. But his 
ignorance or carelessness of the art of writing is 
amply compensated by his knowledge of nature 
and of policy; the wisdom of his maxims, the just- 
ness of his reasonings, and the variety, distinctness, 
and strength of his characters. 

But none of our writers can, in my opinion, justly 
contest the superiority of Knolles, who, in his his- 
tory of the Turks, has displayed all the excellencies 
that narration can admit. His style, though some- 
what obscured by time, and sometimes vitiated by 
false wit, is pure, nervous, elevated, and clear. A 
wonderful multiplicity of events is so artfully 
arranged, and so distinctly explained, that each 
facilitates the knowledge of the next. Whenever a 
new personage is introduced, the reader is prepared 
by his character for his actions; when a nation is 
first attacked, or city besieged, he is made ac- 

67 


THE RAMBLER 


quainted with its history, or situation; so that a 
great part of the world is brought into view. The 
descriptions of this author are without minuteness, 
and the digressions without ostentation. Collateral 
events are so artfully woven into the contexture of 
his principal story, that they cannot be disjoined 
without leaving it lacerated and broken. There is 
nothing turgid in his dignity, nor superfluous in his 
copiousness. His orations only, which he feigns, like 
the ancient historians, to have been pronounced on 
remarkable occasions, are tedious and languid; and 
since they are merely the voluntary sports of imag- 
ination, prove how much the most judicious and 
skilful may be mistaken in the estimate of their 
own powers. 

Nothing could have sunk this author in obscurity, 
but the remoteness and barbarity of the people, 
whose story he relates. It seldom happens, that all 
circumstances concur to happiness or fame. The 
nation which produced this great historian, has the 
grief of seeing his genius employed upon a foreign 
and uninteresting subject; and that writer who 
might have secured perpetuity to his name, by a 
history of his own country, has exposed himself 
to the danger of oblivion, by recounting enter- 
prises and revolutions, of which none desire to be 
informed. 


68 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 123. TUESDAY, MAY 21, 1751 


Quo semel est imbuta recens, servabit odorem 
Testa diu. Hor. Lib. i. Ep. ii. 69. 


What season’d first the vessel, keeps the taste. CrexEcn. 





TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


HOUGH I have so long found myself deluded 

by projects of honour and distinction, that I 
often resolve to admit them no more into my heart; 
yet how determinately soever excluded, they always 
recover their dominion by force or stratagem; and 
whenever, after the shortest relaxation of vigilance, 
reason and caution return to their charge, they find 
hope again in possession, with all her train of 
pleasures dancing about her. 

Even while I am preparing to write a history of 
disappointed expectations, I cannot forbear to flat- 
ter myself, that you and your readers are impatient 
for my performance; and that the sons of learning 
have laid down several of your late papers with 
discontent, when they found that Misocapelus had 
delayed to continue his narrative. 

But the desire of gratifying the expectations that 
I have raised, is not the only motive of this relation, 
which, having once promised it, I think myself no 
longer at liberty to forbear. For, however I may 
have wished to clear myself from every other 
adhesion of trade, I hope I shall be always wise 
enough to retain my punctuality, and amidst all 
my new arts of politeness, continue to despise 
negligence, and detest falsehood. 

69 


THE RAMBLER 


When the death of my brother had dismissed me 
from the duties of a shop, I considered myself as 
restored to the rights of my birth, and entitled to 
the rank and reception which my ancestors obtained. 
I was, however, embarrassed with many difficulties 
at my first re-entrance into the world; for my haste 
to be a gentleman inclined me to precipitate meas- 
ures; and every accident that forced me back 
towards my old station, was considered by me as an 
obstruction of my happiness. 

It was with no common grief and indignation, 
that I found my former companions still daring to 
claim my notice, and the journeymen and appren- 
tices sometimes pulling me by the sleeve as I was 
walking in the street, and without any terrour of 
my new sword, which was, notwithstanding, of an 
uncommon size, inviting me to partake of a bottle 
at the old house, and entertaining me with histories 
of the girls in the neighbourhood. I had always, in 
my officinal state, been kept in awe by lace and em- 
broidery ; and imagined that, to fright away these 
unwelcome familiarities, nothing was necessary, but 
that I should, by splendour of dress, proclaim my 
re-union with a higher rank. I, therefore, sent for 
my tailor; ordered a suit with twice the usual 
quantity of lace; and that I might not let my per- 
secutors increase their confidence, by the habit of 
accosting me, staid at home till it was made. 

This week of confinement I passed in practising’ 
a forbidding frown, a smile of condescension, a slight 
salutation, and an abrupt departure; and in four 

70 


THE RAMBLER 


mornings was able to turn upon my heel, with so 
much levity and sprightliness, that I made no doubt 
of discouraging all publick attempts upon my dig- 
nity. I therefore issued forth in my new coat, with a 
resolution of dazzling intimacy to a fitter distance; 
and pleased myself with the timidity and reverence, 
which I should impress upon all who had hitherto 
presumed to harass me with their freedoms. But, 
whatever was the cause, I did not find myself re- 
ceived with any new degree of respect; those whom 
I intended to drive from me, ventured to advance 
with their usual phrases of benevolence; and those 
whose acquaintance I solicited, grew more super- 
cilious and reserved. I began soon to repent the ex- 
pense, by which I had procured no advantage, and 
to suspect that a shining dress, like a mighty weapon, 
has no force in itself, but owes all its efficacy to him 
that wears it. 

Many were the mortifications and calamities 
which I was condemned to suffer in my initiation 
to politeness. I was so much tortured by the inces- 
sant civilities of my companions, that I never passed 
through that region of the city but in a chair with 
the curtains drawn; and at last left my lodgings, and 
fixed myself in the verge of the court. Here I en- 
deavoured to be thought a gentleman just returned 
from his travels, and was pleased to have my landlord 
believe that I was in some danger from importunate 
creditors; but this scheme was quickly defeated by a 
formal deputation sent to offer me, though I had now 
retired from business, the freedom of my company. 

71 


THE RAMBLER 


I was now detected in trade, and therefore re- 
solved to stay no longer. I hired another apartment, 
and changed my servants. Here I lived very happily 
for three months, and, with secret satisfaction, often 
overheard the family celebrating the greatness and 
felicity of the esquire; though the conversation 
seldom ended without some complaint of my covet- 
ousness, or some remark upon my language, or my 
gait. I now began to venture in the publick walks, 
and to know the faces of nobles and beauties; but 
could not observe, without wonder, as I passed by 
them, how frequently they were talking of a tailor. 
I longed, however, to be admitted to conversation, 
and was somewhat weary of walking in crowds 
without a companion, yet continued to come and 
go with the rest, till a lady whom I endeavoured 
to protect in a crowded passage, as she was about 
to step into her chariot, thanked me for my civility, 
and told me, that, as she had often distinguished 
me for my modest and respectful behaviour, when- 
ever I set up for myself, I might expect to see her 
among my first customers. 

Here was an end of all my ambulatory projects. 
I indeed sometimes entered the walks again, but 
was always blasted by this destructive lady, whose 
mischievous generosity recommended me to her 
acquaintance. Being therefore forced to practise my 
adscititious character upon another stage, I betook 
myself to a coffee-house frequented by wits, among 
whom I learned in a short time the cant of criticism, 
and talked so loudly and volubly of nature, and 

72 


THE RAMBLER 


manners, and sentiment, and diction, and similies, 
and contrasts, and action, and pronunciation, that I 
was often desired to lead the hiss and clap, and was 
feared and hated by the players and the poets. 
Many a sentence have I hissed, which I did not 
understand, and many a groan have I uttered, when 
the ladies were weeping in the boxes. At last a 
malignant author, whose performance I had per- 
secuted through the nine nights, wrote an epigram 
upon Tape the critick, which drove me from the 
pit for ever. 

My desire to be a fine gentleman still continued: 
I therefore, after a short suspense, chose a new set 
of friends at the gaming-table, and was for some 
time pleased with the civility and openness with 
which I found myself treated. I was indeed obliged 
to play; but being naturally timorous and vigilant, 


was never surprised into large sums. What might 


have been the consequence of long familiarity with 
these plunderers, I had not an opportunity of know- 
ing; for one night the constables entered and seized 
us, and I was once more compelled to sink into my 
former condition, by sending for my old master to 
attest my character. 

When I was deliberating to what new qualifi- 
cations I should aspire, I was summoned into the 
country, by an account of my father’s death. Here 
I had hopes of being able to distinguish myself, and 
to support the honour of my family. I therefore 
bought guns and horses, and, contrary to the ex- 
pectation of the tenants, increased the salary of the 

73 


THE RAMBLER 


huntsman. But when I entered the field, it was 
soon discovered, that I was not destined to the 
glories of the chase. I was afraid of thorns in the 
thicket, and of dirt in the marsh; I shivered on 
the brink of a river while the sportsmen crossed it, 
and trembled at the sight of a five-bar gate. When 
the sport and danger were over, I was still equally 
disconcerted; for I was effeminate, though not deli- 
cate, and could only join a feeble whispering voice 
in the clamours of their triumph. 

A fall, by which my ribs were broken, soon re- 
called me to domestick pleasures, and I exerted all 
my art to obtain the favour of the neighbouring 
ladies; but wherever I came, there was always some 
unlucky conversation upon ribands, fillets, pins, or 
thread, which drove all my stock of compliments 
out of my memory, and overwhelmed me with 
shame and dejection. 

Thus I passed the ten first years after the death 
of my brother, in which I have learned at last to 
repress that ambition, which I could never gratify ; 
and, instead of wasting more of my life in vain en- 
deavours after accomplishments, which, if not early 
acquired, no endeavours can obtain, I shall confine 
my care to those higher excellencies which are in 
every man’s power, and though I cannot enchant 
affection by elegance and ease, hope to secure 
esteem by honesty and truth. 


I am, &c. 
MIsSoOcAPELUS. 


74 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 124, SATURDAY, MAY 25, 1751 





Tacitum sylvas inter reptare salubres, 
Curantem quicquid dignum sapiente bonoque est ? 
Hor. Lib. i. Ep. iv. 4. 


To range in silence through each healthful wood, 
And muse what’s worthy of the wise and good. 
ELPHINSTON. 


HE season of the year is now come, in which 

the theatres are shut, and the card-tables for- 
saken; the regions of luxury are for a while unpeo- 
pled, and pleasure leads out her votaries to groves 
and gardens, to still scenes and erratick gratifica- 
tions. Those who have passed many months in a 
continual tumult of diversion; who have never 
opened their eyes in the morning, but upon some 
new appointment; nor slept at night without a 
dream of dances, musick, and good hands, or of soft 
sighs and humble supplications; must now retire to 
distant provinces, where the syrens of flattery are 
scarcely to be heard, where beauty sparkles without 
praise or envy, and wit is repeated only by the echo. 
As I think it one of the most important duties of 
social benevolence to give warning of the approach 
of calamity, when by timely prevention it may be 
turned aside, or by preparatory measures be more 
easily endured, I cannot feel the increasing warmth, 
or observe the lengthening days, without consider- 
ing the condition of my fair readers, who are now 
preparing to leave all that has so long filled up their 
hours, all from which they have been accustomed 
to hope for delight; and who, till fashion proclaims 

15 


THE RAMBLER 


the liberty of returning to the seats of mirth and 
elegance, must endure the rugged ’squire, the sober 
housewife, the loud huntsman, or the formal parson, 
the roar of obstreperous jollity, or the dulness of 
prudential instruction; without any retreat, but to 
the gloom of solitude, where they will yet find 
greater inconveniences, and must learn, however 
unwillingly, to endure themselves. 

In winter, the life of the polite and gay may be 
said to roll on with a strong and rapid current; 
they float along from pleasure to pleasure, without 
the trouble of regulating their own motions, and 
pursue the course of the stream in all the felicity of 
inattention; content that they find themselves in 
progression, and careless whither they are going. 
But the months of summer are a kind of sleeping 
stagnation without wind or tide, where they are left 
to force themselves forward by their own labour, 
and to direct their passage by their own skill: and 
where, if they have not some internal principle of 
activity, they must be stranded upon shallows, or 
lie torpid in a perpetual calm. 

There are, indeed, some to whom this universal 
dissolution of gay societies affords a welcome oppor- 
tunity of quitting, without disgrace, the post which 
they have found themselves unable to maintain; 
and of seeming to retreat only at the call of nature, 
from assemblies where, after a short triumph of 
uncontested superiority, they are overpowered by 
some new intruder of softer elegance or sprightlier | 
vivacity. By these, hopeless of victory, and yet 

76 


THE RAMBLER 


ashamed to confess a conquest, the summer is re- 
garded as a release from the fatiguing service of 
celebrity, a dismission to more certain joys and a 
safer empire. They now solace themselves with the 
influence which they shall obtain, where they have 
no rival to fear; and with the lustre which they 
shall effuse, when nothing can be seen of brighter 
splendour. They imagine, while they are preparing 
for their journey, the admiration with which the 
rusticks will crowd about them; plan the laws of a 
new assembly; or contrive to delude provincial 
ignorance with a fictitious mode. A thousand pleas- 
ing expectations swarm in the fancy; and all the 
approaching weeks are filled with distinctions, hon- 
ours, and authority. 

But others, who have lately entered the world, 
or have yet had no proofs of its inconstancy and 
desertion, are cut off, by this cruel interruption, 
from the enjoyment of their prerogatives, and 
doomed to lose four months in inactive obscurity. 
Many complaints do vexation and desire extort 
from those exiled tyrants of the town, against the 
inexorable sun, who pursues his course without any 
regard to love or beauty; and visits either tropick 
at the stated time, whether shunned or courted, 
deprecated or implored. 

To them who leave the places of publick resort 
in the full bloom of reputation, and withdraw from 
admiration, courtship, submission, and applause, a 
rural triumph can give nothing equivalent. The 
praise of ignorance, and the subjection of weakness, 

ay 


THE RAMBLER 


are little regarded by beauties who have been ac- 
customed to more important conquests, and more 
valuable panegyricks. Nor indeed should the powers 
which have made havock in the theatres, or borne 
down rivalry in courts, be degraded to a mean at- 
tack upon the untravelled heir, or ignoble contest 
with the ruddy milkmaid. 

How then must four long months be worn away ? 
Four months, in which there will be no routes, no 
shows, no ridottos; in which visits must be regu- 
lated by the weather, and assemblies will depend 
upon the moon! The Platonists imagine, that the 
future punishment of those who have in this life 
debased their reason by subjection to their senses, 
and have preferred the gross gratifications of lewd- 
ness and luxury, to the pure and sublime felicity of 
virtue and contemplation, will arise from the pre- 
dominance and solicitations of the same appetites, 
in a state which can furnish no means of appeasing 
them. I cannot but suspect that this month, bright 
with sunshine, and fragrant with perfumes; this 
month, which covers the meadow with verdure, 
and decks the gardens with all the mixtures of color- 
ifick radiance; this month, from which the man of 
fancy expects new infusions of imagery, and the 
naturalist new scenes of observation; this month 
will chain down multitudes to the Platonick pen- 
ance of desire without enjoyment, and hurry them 
from the highest satisfactions, which they have yet 
learned to conceive, into a state of hopeless wishes 
and pining recollection, where the eye of vanity will 

78 


THE RAMBLER 


look round for admiration to no purpose, and the 
hand of avarice shuffle cards in a bower with inef- 
fectual dexterity. 

From the tediousness of this melancholy suspen- 
sion of life, I would willingly preserve those who 
are exposed to it, only by inexperience; who want 
not inclination to wisdom or virtue, though they 
have been dissipated by negligence, or misled by 
example; and who would gladly find the way to 
rational happiness, though it should be necessary 
to struggle with habit, and abandon fashion. To 
these many arts of spending time might be recom- 
mended, which would neither sadden the present 
hour with weariness, nor the future with repentance. 

It would seem impossible to a solitary speculatist, 
that a human being can want employment. To be 
born in ignorance with a capacity of knowledge, 
and to be placed in the midst of a world filled with 
variety, perpetually pressing upon the senses and 
irritating curiosity, is surely a sufficient security 
against the languishment of inattention. Novelty 
is indeed necessary to preserve eagerness and alac- 
rity; but art and nature have stores inexhaustible 
by human intellects; and every moment produces 
something new to him, who has quickened his facul- 
ties by diligent observation. 

Some studies, for which the country and the sum- 
mer afford peculiar opportunities, I shall perhaps 
endeavour to recommend in a future essay; but if 
there be any apprehension not apt to admit unac- 
customed ideas, or any attention so stubborn and 

79 


THE RAMBLER 


inflexible, as not easily to comply with new direc- 
tions, even these obstructions cannot exclude the 
pleasure of application; for there is a higher and 
nobler employment, to which all faculties are 
adapted by Him who gave them. The duties of 
religion, sincerely and regularly performed, will 
always be sufficient to exalt the meanest, and to 
exercise the highest understanding. That mind will 
never be vacant, which is frequently recalled by 
stated duties to meditations on eternal interests; 
nor can any hour be long, which is spent in obtain- 
ing some new qualification for celestial happiness. 


No. 125. TUESDAY, MAY 28, 1751 


Descriptas servare vices, operumque colores, 
Cur ego, st negueo ignoroque, poéta salutor? 
Hor. De Ar. Poet. 86. 


But if, through weakness, or my want of art, 

I can’t to every different style impart 

The proper strokes and colours it may claim, 

Why am I honour’d with a poet’s name? FRANCcIs. 


T is one of the maxims of the civil law, that 

definitions are hazardous. Things modified by 
human understandings, subject to varieties of com- 
plication, and changeable as experience advances 
knowledge, or accident influences caprice, are 
scarcely to be included in any standing form of ex- 
pression, because they are always suffering some 
alteration of their state. Definition is, indeed, not 
the province of man; every thing is set above or 
below our faculties. The works and operations of 

80 


THE RAMBLER 


nature are too great in their extent, or too much 
diffused in their relations, and the performances of 
art too inconstant and uncertain, to be reduced to 
any determinate idea. It is impossible to impress 
upon our minds an adequate and just representation 
of an object so great that we can never take it into 
our view, or so mutable that it is always changing 
under our eye, and has already lost its form while 
we are labouring to conceive it. 

Definitions have been no less difficult or uncertain 
in criticisms than in law. Imagination, a licentious 
and vagrant faculty, unsusceptible of limitations, 
and impatient of restraint, has always endeavoured 
to baffle the logician, to perplex the confines of dis- 
tinction, and burst the inclosures of regularity. 
There is therefore scarcely any species of writing, 
of which we can tell what is its essence, and what 
are its constituents; every new genius produces 
some innovation, which, when invented and ap- 
proved, subverts the rules which the practice of 
foregoing authors had established. 

Comedy has been particularly unpropitious to 
definers; for though perhaps they might properly 
have contented themselves, with declaring it to be 
such a dramatick representation of human life, as 
may excite mirth, they have embarrassed their defi- 
nition with the means by which the comick writers 
attain their end, without considering that the var- 
ious methods of exhilarating their audience, not 
being limited by nature, cannot be comprised in 


precept. Thus, some make comedy a representation 
VoL. 3—6 81 


THE RAMBLER 


of mean and others of bad men; some think that 
its essence consists in the unimportance, others 
in the fictitiousness of the transaction. But any 
man’s reflections will inform him, that every dra- 
matick composition which raises mirth, is comick; 
and that, to raise mirth, it is by no means univer- 
sally necessary, that the personages should be either 
mean or corrupt, nor always requisite, that the 
action should be trivial, nor ever, that it should be 
fictitious. 

If the two kinds of dramatick poetry had been 
defined only by their effects upon the mind, some 
absurdities might have been prevented, with which 
the compositions of our greatest poets are disgraced, 
who, for want of some settled ideas and accurate 
distinctions, have unhappily confounded tragick with 
comick sentiments. They seem to have thought, that 
as the meanest of personages constituted comedy, 
their greatness was sufficient to form a tragedy ; and 
that nothing was necessary but that they should 
crowd the scene with monarchs, and generals, and 
guards; and make them talk, at certain intervals, 
of the downfall of kingdoms, and the rout of armies. 
They have not considered, that thoughts or inci- 
dents, in themselves ridiculous, grow still more gro- 
tesque by the solemnity of such characters; that 
reason and nature are uniform and inflexible; and 
that what is despicable and absurd, will not, by any 
association with splendid titles, become rational or 
great; that the most important affairs, by an inter- 
mixture of an unseasonable levity, may be made 

82 


THE RAMBLER 


contemptible; and that the robes of royalty can give 
no dignity to nonsense or to folly. 
‘*Comedy,’’ says Horace, ‘‘ sometimes raises her 
voice;’’ and Tragedy may likewise on proper occa- 
sions abate her dignity ; but as the comick personages 
can only depart from their familiarity of style, when 
the more violent passions are put in motion, the 
heroes and queens of tragedy should never descend 
to trifle, but in the hours of ease, and intermissions 
of danger. Yet in the tragedy of Don Sebastian, 
when the King of Portugal is in the hands of his 
enemy, and having just drawn the lot, by which he 
is condemned to die, breaks out into a wild boast 
that his dust shall take possession of Africk, the 
dialogue proceeds thus between the captive and his 
conqueror: 
Muley Moluch. What shall I do to conquer thee? 
Seb. Impossible! 

Souls know no conquerors. 
M. Mol. 1’ shew thee for a monster thro’ my Afric. 
Seb. No, thou canst only shew me for a man: 

Afric is stored with monsters; man’s a prodigy 

Thy subjects have not seen. 
M. Mol. Thou talk’st as if 

Still at the head of battle. 
Seb. Thou mistak’st, 


For there I would not talk. 
Benducar, the Minister. Sure he would sleep. 


This conversation, with the sly remark of the 
minister, can only be found not to be comick, because 
it wants the probability necessary to representations 
of common life, and degenerates too much towards 


_ buffoonery and farce. 


83 


THE RAMBLER 


The same play affords a smart return of the 
general to the emperor, who, enforcing his orders 
for the death of Sebastian, vents his impatience in 
this abrupt threat: 


——No more replies, 
But see thou dost it: Or—— 


To which Dorax answers, 
Choak in that threat: I can say Or as loud. 


A thousand instances of such impropriety might 
be produced, were not one scene in Aureng-Zebe 
sufficient to exemplify it. Indamora, a captive 
queen, having Aureng-Zebe for her lover, employs 
Arimant, to whose charge she had been entrusted, 
and whom she had made sensible of her charms, to 
carry her message to his rival. 


Artmant, with a letter in his hand: Inpamora. 


Arim. And I the messenger to him from you! 
Your empire you to tyranny pursue: 
You lay commands both cruel and unjust, 
To serve my rival, and betray my trust. 
Ind. You first betray’d your trust in loving me: 
And should not I my own advantage see? 
Serving my love, you may my friendship gain; 
You know the rest of your pretences vain. 
You must, my Arimant, you must be kind: 
*Tis in your nature, and your noble mind. 
Arim. Vl to the king, and straight my trust resign. 
Ind. His trust you mdy, but you shall never mine. 
Heaven made you love me for no other end, 
But to become my confidant and friend: 
As such, I keep no secret from your sight, 
And therefore make you judge how ill I write: 
Read it, and tell me freely then your mind, 
If ’tis indited, as I meant it, kind. 
Arim. JI ask not heaven my freedom to restore—[ Reading. 
But only for your sake——I’1l read no more. 
And yet I must—— 


84 


THE RAMBLER 


Less for my own, than for your sorrow sad——[Reading. 
Another line like this, would make me mad 
Heav’n! she goes on yet more and yet more kind! 

[As reading. 











Each sentence is a dagger to my mind. 
See me this night [ Reading. 
Thank fortune who did such a friend provide ; 
For faithful Arimant shall be your guide. 
Not only to be made an instrument, 
But pre-engaged without my own consent! 
Ind. Unknown to engage you still augments my score, 
And gives you scope of meriting the more. 
Arim. The best of men 
Some int’rest in their actions must confess; 
None merit, but in hope they may possess: 
The fatal paper rather let me tear, 
Than, like Bellerophon, my own sentence bear. 
Ind. You may; but twill not be your best advice: 
*Twill only give me pains of writing twice. 
You know you must obey me, soon or late: 
Why should you vainly struggle with your fate? 
Arim. J thank thee, Heav’n! thou hast been wondrous kind! 
Why am I thus to slavery design’d, 
And yet am cheated with a free-born mind! 
Or make thy orders with my reason suit, 
Or let me live by sense, a glorious brute 
You frown, and I obey with speed, before 
That dreadful sentence comes, See me no more. 








[She frowns. 


In this scene, every circumstance concurs to turn 
tragedy to farce. The wild absurdity of the ex- 
pedient; the contemptible subjection of the lover; 
the folly of obliging him to read the letter, only 
because it ought to have been concealed from him; 
the frequent interruptions of amorous impatience; 
the faint expostulations of a voluntary slave; the 
imperious haughtiness of a tyrant without power; 
the deep reflection of the yielding rebel upon fate 
and free-will; and his wise wish to loose his reason 


85 


THE RAMBLER 


as soon as he finds himself about to do what he can- 
not persuade his reason to approve, are sufficient to 
awaken the most torpid risibility. 

There is scarce a tragedy of the last century which 
has not debased its most important incidents, and 
polluted its most serious interlocutions, with buf- 
foonery and meanness; but though perhaps it can- 
not be pretended that the present age has added 
much to the force and efficacy of the drama, it has 
at least been able to escape many faults, which 
either ignorance had overlooked, or indulgence had 
licensed. The later tragedies, indeed, have faults of 
another kind, perhaps more destructive to delight, 
though less open to censure. That perpetual tumour 
of phrase with which every thought is now expressed 
by every personage, the paucity of adventurers which 
regularity admits, and the unvaried equality of flow- 
ing dialogue has taken away from our present 
writers almost all that dominion over the passions 
which was the boast of their predecessors. Yet they 
may at least claim this commendation, that they 
avoid gross faults, and that if they cannot often 
move terrour or pity, they are always careful not to 
provoke laughter. 


86 





THE RAMBLER 


No. 126. SATURDAY, JUNE 1, 1751 
—— Nihil est aliud magnum quam multa minuta. Ver. Avucr. 


Sands form the mountain, moments make the year. Youne. 
Minh TO THE RAMBLER. 

MONG other topicks of conversation which 
your papers supply, I was lately engaged in a 
discussion of the character given by Tranquilla of 
her lover Venustulus, whom, notwithstanding the 
severity of his mistress, the greater number seemed 
inclined to acquit of unmanly or culpable timidity. 
One of the company remarked that prudence 
ought to be distinguished from fear; and that if 
Venustulus was afraid of nocturnal adventures, no 
man who considered how much every avenue of the 
town was infested with robbers could think him 
-blameable; for why should life be hazarded without 
prospect of honour or advantage? Another was of 
opinion, that a brave man might be afraid of cross- 
ing the river in the calmest weather, and declared, 
that, for his part, while there were coaches and a 
bridge, he would never be seen tottering in a 
wooden case, out of which he might be thrown by 
any irregular agitation, or which might be overset 
by accident, or negligence, or by the force of a sud- 
den gust, or the rush of a larger vessel. It was his 
custom, he said, to keep the security of daylight, 
and dry ground; for it was a maxim with him, that 
no wise man ever perished by water, or was lost in 

the dark. 

87 


THE RAMBLER 


The next was humbly of opinion, that if Tran- 
quilla had seen, like him, the cattle run roaring 
about the meadows in the hot months, she would 
not have thought meanly of her lover for not ven- 
turing his safety among them. His neighbour then 
told us, that for his part he was not ashamed to 
confess, that he could not see a rat, though it was 
dead, without palpitation; that he had been driven 
six times out of his lodgings either by rats or mice; 
and that he always had a bed in the closet for his 
servant, whom he called up whenever the enemy 
was in motion. Another wondered that any man 
should think himself disgraced by a precipitate re- 
treat from a dog; for there was always a possibility 
that a dog might be mad; and that surely, though 
there was no danger but of being bit by a fierce ani- 
mal, there was more wisdom in flight than contest. 
By all these declarations another was encouraged 
to confess, that if he had been admitted to the hon- 
our of paying his addresses to 'Tranquilla, he should 
have been likely to incur the same censure; for, 
among all the animals upon which nature has im- 
pressed deformity and horrour, there is none whom 
he durst not encounter rather than a beetle. 

Thus, Sir, though cowardice is universally defined 
too close and anxious an attention to personal safety, 


there will be found scarcely any fear, however ex- 
cessive in its degree, or unreasonable in its object, — 


which will be allowed to characterise a coward. 
Fear is a passion which every man feels so fre- 


quently predominant in his own breast, that he is — 


338 





THE RAMBLER 


unwilling to hear it censured with great asperity; 
and, perhaps, if we confess the truth, the same re- 
straint which would hinder a man from declaiming 
against the frauds of any employment among those 
who profess it, should withhold him from treating | 
fear with contempt among human beings. 

Yet, since fortitude is one of those virtues which 
the condition of our nature makes hourly necessary, 
I think you cannot better direct your admonitions 
than against superfluous and panick terrours. Fear 
is implanted in us as a preservative from evil; but 
its duty, like that of other passions, is not to over- 
bear reason, but to assist it; nor should it be suffered 
to tyrannize in the imagination, to raise phan- 
toms of horrour, or beset life with supernumerary 
distresses. 

To be always afraid of losing life is, indeed, 
scarcely to enjoy a life that can deserve the care of 
preservation. He that once indulges idle fears will 
never be at rest. Our present state admits only of a 
kind of negative security; we must conclude our- 
selves safe when we see no danger, or none inade- 
quate to our powers of opposition. Death, indeed, 
continually hovers about us, but hovers commonly 
unseen, unless we sharpen our sight by useless 
curiosity. 

There is always a point at which caution, how- 
ever solicitous, must limit its preservatives, because 
one terrour often counteracts another. I once knew 
one of the speculatists of cowardice, whose reign- 
ing disturbance was the dread of housebreakers. His 

89 


THE RAMBLER 


inquiries were for nine years employed upon the best 
method of barring a window, or a door; and many 
an hour has he spent in establishing the preference 
of a bolt to a lock. He had at last, by the daily 
superaddition of new expedients, contrived a door 
which could never be forced; for one bar was se- 
cured by another with such intricacy of subordi- 
nation, that he was himself not always able to 
disengage them in the proper method. He was 
happy in this fortification, till being asked how he 
would escape if he was threatened by fire, he dis- 
covered, that with all his care and expense, he had 
only been assisting his own destruction. He then 
immediately tore off his bolts, and now leaves at 
night his outer door half-locked, that he may not 
by his own folly perish in the flames. 

There is one species of terrour which those who 
are unwilling to suffer the reproach of cowardice 
have wisely dignified with the name of antipathy. 
A man who talks with intrepidity of the monsters 
of the wilderness while they are out of sight, will 
readily confess his antipathy to a mole, a weasel, or 
a frog. He has indeed no dread of harm from an 
insect or a worm, but his antipathy turns him pale 
whenever they approach him. He believes that a 
boat will transport him with as much safety as his 
neighbours, but he cannot conquer his antipathy to 
the water. Thus he goes on without any reproach 
from his own reflections, and every day multiplies 
antipathies, till he becomes contemptible to others, 
and burdensome to himself. 

90 


THE RAMBLER 


It is indeed certain, that impressions of dread may 
sometimes be unluckily made by objects not in 
themselves justly formidable; but when fear is dis- 
covered to be groundless, it is to be eradicated like 
other false opinions, and antipathies are generally 
superable by a single effort. He that has been taught 
to shudder at a mouse, if he can persuade himself to 
risk one encounter, will find his own superiority, 
and exchange his terrours for the pride of conquest. 

I am, Sir, &e. 
THRASO. 
SIR, 

As you profess to extend your regard to the 
minuteness of decency, as well as to the dignity of 
science, I cannot forbear to lay before you a mode 
of persecution by which I have been exiled to 
taverns and coffee-houses, and deterred from enter- 
ing the doors of my friends. 

Among the ladies who please themselves with 
splendid furniture, or elegant entertainment, it is a 
practice very common, to ask every guest how he 
likes the carved work of the cornice, or the figures 
of the tapestry; the china at the table, or the plate 
on the side-board: and on all occasions to inquire 
his opinion of their judgment and their choice. 
Melania has laid her new watch in the window 
nineteen times, that she may desire me to look upon 
it. Calista has an art of dropping her snuff-box by 
drawing out her handkerchief, that when I pick it 
up I may admire it; and Fulgentia has conducted 
| 91 


THE RAMBLER 


me, by mistake, into the wrong room, at every 
visit I have paid since her picture was put into a 
new frame. 

I hope, Mr. Rambler, you will inform them, that 
no man should be denied the privilege of silence, or 
tortured to false declarations; and that though 
ladies may justly claim to be exempt from rudeness, 
they have no right to force unwilling civilities. To 
please is a laudable and elegant ambition, and is 
properly rewarded with honest praise; but to seize 
applause by violence, and call out for commenda- 
tion, without knowing, or caring to know, whether 
it be given from conviction, is a species of tyranny 
by which modesty is oppressed, and sincerity cor- 
rupted. The tribute of admiration, thus exacted by 
impudence and importunity, differs from the respect 
paid to silent merit, as the plunder of a pirate from 


the merchant’s profit. I am, &c. 


MiIsocoLax. 
SIR, 


Your great predecessor, the Spectator, endeav- 
oured to diffuse among his female readers a desire 
of knowledge; nor can I charge you, though you 
do not seem equally attentive to the ladies, with 
endeavouring to discourage them from any laudable 
pursuit. But however he or you may excite our 
curiosity, you have not yet informed us how it may 
be gratified. The world seems to have formed an 
universal conspiracy against our understandings; 
our questions are supposed not to expect answers, 

92 


THE RAMBLER 


our arguments are confuted with a jest, and we are 
treated like beings who transgress the limits of 
our nature whenever we aspire to seriousness or 
improvement. 

I inquired yesterday of a gentleman eminent for 
astronomical skill, what made the day long in sum- 
mer, and short in winter; and was told that nature 
protracted the days in summer, lest ladies should 
want time to walk in the park; and the nights in 
winter, lest they should not have hours sufficient to 
spend at the card-table. 

I hope you do not doubt but I heard such infor- 
mation with just contempt, and I desire you to 
discover to this great master of ridicule, that I was 
far from wanting any intelligence which he could 
have given me. I asked the question with no other 
intention than to set him free from the necessity 
of silence, and gave him an opportunity of mingling 
on equal terms with a polite assembly, from which, 
however uneasy, he could not then escape, by a 
kind introduction of the only subject on which I 
believed him able to speak with propriety. 

I am, &e. 
GENEROSA. 


938 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 127. TUESDAY, JUNE 4, 1751 


Capisti melius, quam desinis. Ultima primis 
Cedunt: dissimiles hic vir et ille puer. 
Ovin, Ep. ix. 24. 


Succeeding years thy early fame destroy; 
Thou, who began’st a man, wilt end a boy. 


OLITIAN, a name eminent among the restor- 

ers of polite literature, when he published a 
collection of epigrams, prefixed to many of them 
the year of his age at which they were composed. 
He might design by this information, either to 
boast the early maturity of his genius, or to concil- 
iate indulgence to the puerility of his performances. 
But whatever was his intent, it is remarked by 
Scaliger, that he very little promoted his own repu- 
tation, because he fell below the promise which his 
first productions had given, and in the latter part 
of his life seldom equalled the sallies of his youth. 

It is not uncommon for those who at their first 
entrance into the world were distinguished for at- 
tainments or abilities, to disappoint the hopes which 
they had raised, and to end in neglect and obscurity 
that life which they began in celebrity and honour. 
To the long catalogue of the inconveniences of old 
age, which moral and satirical writers have so 
copiously displayed, may be often added the loss 
of fame. 

The advance of the human mind towards any 
object of laudable pursuit, may be compared to the 
progress of a body driven by a blow. It moves for 

94 


THE RAMBLER 


a time with great velocity and vigour, but the force 
of the first impulse is perpetually decreasing, and 
though it should encounter no obstacle capable of 
quelling it by a sudden stop, the resistance of the 
medium through which it passes, and the latent in- 
equalities of the smoothest surface, will in a short 
time, by continued retardation, wholly overpower 
it. Some hindrances will be found in every road of 
life, but he that fixes his eyes upon any thing at a 
distance, necessarily loses sight of all that fills up 
his intermediate space, and therefore sets forward 
with alacrity and confidence, nor suspects a thou- 
sand obstacles by which he afterwards finds his pas- 
sage embarrassed and obstructed. Some are indeed 
stopt at once in their career by a sudden shock of 
calamity, or diverted to a different direction by the 
cross impulse of some violent passion; but far the 
greater part languish by slow degrees, deviate at 
first into slight obliquities, and themselves scarcely 
perceive at what time their ardour forsook them, 
or when they lost sight of their original design. 

Weariness and negligence are perpetually pre- 
vailing by silent encroachments, assisted by different 
causes, and not observed till they cannot, without 
great difficulty, be opposed. Labour necessarily re- 
quires pauses of ease and relaxation, and the de- 
liciousness of ease commonly makes us unwilling 
to return to labour. We, perhaps, prevail upon our- 
selves to renew our attempts, but eagerly listen to 
every argument for frequent interpositions of amuse- 
Ment; for, when indolence has once entered upon 
| 95 


THE RAMBLER 


the mind, it can scarcely be dispossessed but by 
such efforts as very few are willing to exert. 

It is the fate of industry to be equally endangered 
by miscarriage and success, by confidence and de- 
spondency. He that engages in a great undertaking, 
with a false opinion of its facility, or too high con- 
ceptions of his own strength, is easily discouraged 
by the first hindrance of his advances, because he 
had promised himself an equal and perpetual pro- 
gression without impediment or disturbance; when 
unexpected interruptions break in upon him, he is 
in the state of a man surprised by a tempest, where 
he purposed only to bask in the calm, or sport in 
the shallows. 

It is not only common to find the difficulty of 
an enterprize greater, but the profit less, than hope 
had pictured it. Youth enters the world with very 
happy prejudices in her own favour. She imagines 
herself not only certain of accomplishing every ad- 
venture, but of obtaining those rewards which the 
accomplishment may deserve. She is not easily per- 
suaded to believe that the force of merit can be 
resisted by obstinacy and avarice, or its lustre dark- 
ened by envy and malignity. She has not yet 
learned that the most evident claims to praise or 
preferment may be rejected by malice against con- 
viction, or by indolence without examination; that 
they may be sometimes defeated by artifices, and 
sometimes overborne by clamour; that, in the 
mingled numbers of mankind, many need no other) 
provocation to enmity than that they find them- 

96 | 








Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, PR A 


BURKE 









a alah ay 
| PAY aveotd ana 


THE RAMBLER 


selves excelled; that others have ceased their curi- 
osity, and consider every man who fills the mouth 
of report with a new name, as an intruder upon 
their retreat, and disturber of their repose; that 
some are engaged in complications of interest which 
they imagine endangered by every innovation; that 
many yield themselves up implicitly to every re- 
port which hatred disseminates or folly scatters; 
and that whoever aspires to the notice of the pub- 
lick, has in almost every man an enemy and a rival; 
and must struggle with the opposition of the dar- 
ing, and elude the stratagems of the timorous, must 
quicken the frigid and soften the obdurate, must 
reclaim perverseness and inform stupidity. 

It is no wonder that when the prospect of re- 
ward has vanished, the zeal of enterprize should 
cease; for who would persevere to cultivate the 
soul which he has, after long labour, discovered to 
be barren? He who hath pleased himself with an- 
ticipated praises, and expected that he should meet 
in every place with patronage or friendship, will 
soon remit his vigour, when he finds that, from 
those who desire to be considered as -his admirers, 
nothing can be hoped but cold civility, and that 
many refuse to own his excellence, lest they should 
be too justly expected to reward it. 

A man, thus cut off from the prospect of that 
port to which his address and fortitude had been 
employed to steer him, often abandons himself to 


_ chance and to the wind, and glides careless and idle 
down the current of life, without resolution to 


VoL. 3—7 97 


THE RAMBLER 


make another effort, till he is swallowed up by the 
gulph of mortality. 

Others are betrayed to the same desertion of 
themselves by a contrary fallacy. It was said of 
Hannibal, that he wanted nothing to the comple- 
tion of his martial virtues, but that when he had 
gained a victory he should know how to use it. 
The folly of desisting too soon from successful la- 
bours, and the haste of enjoying advantages before 
they are secured, are often fatal to men of impetu- 
ous desire, to men whose consciousness of uncom- 
mon powers fills them with presumption, and who, 
having borne opposition down before them, and 
left emulation panting behind, are early persuaded 
to imagine that they have reached the heights of 
perfection, and that now, being no longer in danger 
from competitors, they may pass the rest of their 
days in the enjoyment of their acquisitions, in con- 
templation of their own superiority, and in atten- 
tion to their own praises, and look unconcerned 
from their eminence upon the toils and contentions 
of meaner beings. 

It is not sufficiently considered in the hour of 
exultation, that all human excellence is compara- 
tive; that no man performs much but in proportion 
to what others accomplish, or to the time and op- 
portunities which have been allowed him; and that 
he who stops at any point of excellence is every 
day sinking in estimation, because his improvement 
grows continually more incommensurate to his life. 
Yet, as no man willingly quits opinions favourable 

98 


THE RAMBLER 


to himself, they who have once been justly cele- 
brated, imagine that they still have the same 
pretensions to regard, and seldom perceive the 
diminution of their character while there is time to 
recover it. Nothing then remains but murmurs and 
remorse; for if the spendthrift’s poverty be em- 
bittered by the reflection that he once was rich, 
how must the idler’s obscurity be clouded by re- 
membering that he once had lustre! 

These errours all arise from an original mistake 
of the true motives of action. He that never extends 
his view beyond the praises or rewards of men will 
be dejected by neglect and envy, or infatuated by 
honours and applause. But the consideration that 
life is only deposited in his hands to be employed 
in obedience to a Master who will regard his en- 
deavours, not his success, would have preserved 
him from trivial elations and discouragements, and 
enabled him to proceed with constancy and cheer- 
fulness, neither enervated by condemnation, nor 
intimidated by censure. 


99 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 128. SATURDAY, JUNE 8, 1751 
Aioy & adogadns 
Obx eyévt?, ot Alaxidg xapa. Inher, 
Odte zap avrrbdy 
Kdbpy: Xyovtat pay Bpdtwy 
OABov Sréptatoyv ot 
Exety. Prnp. Py. iii. 153. 


For not the brave, or wise, or great, 
E’er yet had happiness complete: 
Nor Peleus, grandson of the sky, 
Nor Cadmus, scap’d the shafts of pain, 
Though favour’d by the Pow’rs on high, 
With every bliss that man can gain. 


HE writers who have undertaken the task of 

reconciling mankind to their present state, and 
relieving the discontent produced by the various 
distribution of terrestrial advantages, frequently re- 
mind us that we judge too hastily of good and evil, 
that we view only the superfices of life, and de- 
termine of the whole by a very small part; and 
that in the condition of men it frequently happens, 
that grief and anxiety lie hid under the golden 
robes of prosperity, and the gloom of calamity is 
cheered by secret radiations of hope and comfort; 
as in the works of nature the bog is sometimes 
covered with flowers, and the mine concealed in the 
barren crags. 

None but those who have learned the art of 
subjecting their senses as well as reason to hypo- 
thetical systems, can be persuaded by the most 
specious rhetorician that the lots of life are equal; 

100 


| 


THE RAMBLER 


yet it cannot be denied that every one has his 
peculiar pleasures and vexations, that external ac- 
eidents operate variously upon different minds, 
and that no man can exactly judge from his own 
sensations, what another would feel in the same 
circumstances. 

If the general disposition of things be estimated 
by the representation which every one makes of 
his own estate, the world must be considered as the 
abode of sorrow and misery; for how few can for- 
bear to relate their troubles and distresses? If we 
judge by the account which may be obtained of 
every man’s fortune from others, it may be con- 
cluded, that we all are placed in an elysian region, 
overspread with the luxuriance of plenty, and fanned 
by the breezes of felicity; since scarcely any com- 
plaint is uttered without censure from those that 
hear it, and almost all are allowed to have obtained 
a provision at least adequate to their virtue or their 
understanding, to possess either more than they 
deserve, or more than they enjoy. 

We are either born with such dissimilitude of 
temper and inclination, or receive so many of our 
ideas and opinions from the state of life in which 
we are engaged, that the griefs and cares of one 
part of mankind seem to the other hypocrisy, folly, 
and affectation. Every class of society has its cant 
of lamentation, which is understood or regarded by 
none but themselves; and every part of life has its 
uneasiness, which those who do not feel them will 
not commiserate. An event which spreads distrac- 

101 


THE RAMBLER 


tion over half the commercial world, assembles the 
trading companies in council and committees, and 
shakes the nerves of a thousand stockjobbers, is 
read by the landlord and the farmer with frigid in- 
difference. An affair of love, which fills the young 
breast with incessant alternations of hope and fear, 
and steals away the night and day from every other 
pleasure or employment, is regarded by them whose 
passions time has extinguished, as an amusement, 
which can properly raise neither joy nor sorrow, 
and, though it may be suffered to fill the vacuity 
of an idle moment, should always give way to 
prudence or interest. 

He that never had any other desire than to fill a 
chest with money, or to add another manour to his 
estate, who never grieved but at a bad mortgage, 
or entered a company but to make a bargain, would 
be astonished to hear of beings known among the 
polite and gay by the denomination of wits. How 
would he gape with curiosity, or grin with contempt, 
at the mention of beings who have no wish but to 
speak what was never spoken before; who, if they 
happen to inherit wealth, often exhaust their patri- 
monies in treating those who will hear them talk; 
and if they are poor, neglect opportunities of im- 
proving their fortunes, for the pleasure of making 
others laugh? How slowly would he believe that 
there are men who would rather lose a legacy than 
the reputation of a distich; who think it less dis- 
grace to want money than repartee; whom the 
vexation of having been foiled in a contest of raillery 

102 


THE RAMBLER 


is sometimes sufficient to deprive of sleep; and who 
would esteem it a lighter evil to miss a profitable 
bargain by some accidental delay, than not to have 
thought of a smart reply till the time of producing 
it was past? How little would he suspect that this 
child of idleness and frolick enters every assembly 
with a beating bosom, like a litigant on the day of 
decision, and revolves the probability of applause 
with the anxiety of a conspirator, whose fate de- 
pends upon the next night; that at the hour of 
retirement he carries home, under a shew of airy 
negligence, a heart lacerated with envy, or depressed 
with disappointment; and immures himself in his 
closet, that he may disencumber his memory at 
leisure, review the progress of the day, state with 
accuracy his loss or gain of reputation, and examine 
the causes of his failure or success? 

Yet more remote from common conceptions are 
the numerous and restless anxieties, by which fe- 
male happiness is particularly disturbed. A solitary 
philosopher would imagine ladies born with an ex- 
emption from care and sorrow, lulled in perpetual 
quiet, and feasted with unmingled pleasure; for 
what can interrupt the content of those, upon whom 
one age has laboured after another to confer honours, 
and accumulate immunities; those to whom rude- 
hess is infamy, and insult is cowardice; whose eye 
commands the brave, and whose smiles soften the 
severe; whom the sailor travels to adorn, the soldier 
bleeds to defend, and the poet wears out life to 
celebrate; who claim tribute from every art and 

108 


THE RAMBLER 


science, and for whom all who approach them en- 
deavour to multiply delights, without requiring 
from them any returns but willingness to be pleased? 

Surely, among these favourites of nature, thus 
unacquainted with toil and danger, felicity must 
have fixed her residence; they must know only the 
changes of more vivid or more gentle joys; their 
life must always move either to the slow or sprightly 
melody of the lyre of gladness; they can never 
assemble but to pleasure, or retire but to peace. 

Such would be the thoughts of every man who 
should hover at a distance round the world, and 
know it only by conjecture and speculation. But 
experience will soon discover how easily those are 
disgusted who have been made nice by plenty and 
tender by indulgence. He will soon see to how many 
dangers power is exposed which has no other guard 
than youth and beauty, and how easily that tran- 
quillity is molested which can only be soothed with 
the songs of flattery. It is impossible to supply 
wants as fast as an idle imagination may be able to 
form them, or to remove all conveniences by which 
elegance refined into impatience may be offended. 
None are so hard to please, as those whom satiety 
of pleasure makes weary of themselves; nor any so 
readily provoked as those who have been always 
courted with an emulation of civility. 

There are indeed some strokes which the envy of 
fate aims immediately at the fair. The mistress 
of Catullus wept for her sparrow many centuries 
ago, and lapdogs will be sometimes sick in the 

104 


THE RAMBLER 


present age. The most fashionable brocade is subject 
to stains; a pinner, the pride of Brussels, may be 
torn by a careless washer; a picture may drop from 
a watch; or the triumph of a new suit may be in- 
terrupted on the first day of its enjoyment, and all 
distinctions of dress unexpectedly obliterated by a 
general mourning. 

Such is the state of every age, every sex, and 
every condition: all have their cares, either from 
nature or from folly: and whoever therefore finds 
himself inclined to envy another, should remember 
that he knows not the real condition which he desires 
to obtain, but is certain that by indulging a vicious 
passion, he must lessen that happiness which he 
thinks already too sparingly bestowed. 


No. 129. TUESDAY, JUNE 11, 1751 
Nune, O nunc, Dedale, divit, 

Materiam, qua sis ingeniosus, habes. 
Possidet en terras, et possidet equora Minos: 

Nee tellus nostre, nec patet unda fuge. 
Restat iter celo : tentabimus ire. 

Da veniam cepto, Jupiter alte, meo. 

Ovin, Ar. Am. Lib. ii. 33. 

Now, Dedalus, behold, by fate assign’d, 
A task proportion’d to thy mighty mind! 
Unconquer’d bars on earth and sea withstand; 
Thine, Minos, is the main, and thine the land. 
The skies are open—let us try the skies: 
Forgive, great Jove, the daring enterprize. 


ORALISTS, like other writers, instead of 

casting their eyes abroad in the living world, 

and endeavouring to form maxims of practice and 

new hints of theory, content their curiosity with 
105 





THE RAMBLER 


that secondary knowledge which books afford, and 
think themselves entitled to reverence by a new 
arrangement of an ancient system, or new illustra- 
tion of established principles®. The sage precepts of 
the first instructors of the world are transmitted 
from age to age with little variation, and echoed 
from one author to another, not perhaps without 
some loss of their original force at every repercussion. 

I know not whether any other reason than this 
idleness of imitation can be assigned for that uni- 
form and constant partiality, by which some vices 
have hitherto escaped censure, and some virtues 
wanted recommendation; nor can I discover why 
else we have been warned only against part of our 
enemies, while the rest have been suffered to steal 
upon us without notice; why the heart has on one 
side been doubly fortified, and laid open on the 
other to the incursions of errour, and the ravages 
of vice. 

Among the favourite topicks of moral declama- 
tion, may be numbered the miscarriages of impru- 
dent boldness, and the folly of attempts beyond 
our power. Every page of every philosopher is 
crowded with examples of temerity that sunk under 
burdens which she laid upon herself, and called out 
enemies to battle by whom she was destroyed. 

Their remarks are too just to be disputed, and 


¢ Johnson gained his knowledge from actual experience. He told Bos- 
well that before he wrote the Rambler he had been running about the 
world more than almost any body. Boswell’s Life of Johnson, vol. i. p. 
196,; and vol. iii. pp. 20, 21. 


106 


THE RAMBLER 


too salutary to be rejected; but there is likewise 
some danger lest timorous prudence should be in- 
culeated, till courage and enterprise are wholly 
repressed, and the mind congealed in perpetual in- 
activity by the fatal influence of frigorifick wisdom. 
Every man should, indeed, carefully compare his 
force with his undertaking; for though we ought 
not to live only for our own sakes, and though 
therefore danger or difficulty should not be avoided 
merely because we may expose ourselves to misery 
or disgrace; yet it may be justly required of us, not 
to throw away our lives upon inadequate and hope- 
less designs, since we might, by a just estimate of 
our abilities, become more useful to mankind. 
There is an irrational contempt of danger, which 
approaches nearly to the folly, if not the guilt of 
suicide; there is a ridiculous perseverance in im- 
practicable schemes, which is justly punished with 
ignominy and reproach. But in the wide regions of 
probability, which are the proper province of pru- 
dence and election, there is always room to deviate 
on either side of rectitude without rushing against 
apparent absurdity; and according to the inclina- 
tions of nature, or the impressions of precept, the dar- 
ing and the cautious may move in different directions 
without touching upon rashness or cowardice. 
That there is a middle path which it is every 
man’s duty to find, and to keep, is unanimously 
confessed : but it is likewise acknowledged that this 
middle path is so narrow, that it cannot easily be 
discovered, and so little beaten, that there are no 
| 107 


THE RAMBLER 


certain marks by which it can be followed: the care, 
therefore, of all those who conduct others has been, 
that whenever they decline into obliquities, they 
should tend towards the side of safety. 

It can, indeed, raise no wonder that temerity has 
been generally censured; for it is one of the vices 
with which few can be charged, and which, there- 
fore, great numbers are ready to condemn. It is the 
vice of noble and generous minds, the exuberance 
of magnanimity, and the ebullition of genius; and 
is, therefore, not regarded with much tenderness, 
because it never flatters us by that appearance of 
softness and imbecility which is commonly neces- 
sary to conciliate compassion. But if the same at- 
tention had been applied to the search of arguments 
against the folly of pre-supposing impossibilities, 
and anticipating frustration, I know not whether 
many would not have been roused to usefulness, 
who, having been taught to confound prudence 
with timidity, never ventured to excel, lest they 
should unfortunately fail. 

It is necessary to distinguish our own interest 
from that of others, and that distinction will per- 
haps assist us in fixing the just limits of caution and 
adventurousness. In an undertaking that involves 
the happiness or the safety of many, we have cer- 
tainly no right to hazard more than is allowed by 
those who partake the danger; but where only our- 
selves can suffer by miscarriage, we are not confined 
within such narrow limits; and still less is the re- 
proach of temerity, when numbers will receive 

108 


THE RAMBLER 


advantage by success, and only one be incommoded 
by failure. 

Men are generally willing to hear precepts by 
which ease is favoured; and as no resentment is 
raised by general representations of human folly, 
even in those who:are most eminently jealous of 
comparative reputation, we confess, without reluct- 
ance, that vain man is ignorant of his own weak- 
ness, and therefore frequently presumes to attempt 
what he can never accomplish; but it ought like- 
wise to be remembered, that man is no less igno- 
rant of his own powers, and might perhaps have 
accomplished a thousand designs, which the preju- 
dices of cowardice restrained him from attempting. 

It is observed in the golden verses of Pythagoras, 
that ‘‘ Power is never far from necessity.’’ The 
vigour of the human mind quickly appears, when 
there is no longer any place for doubt and hesita- 
tion, when diffidence is absorbed in the sense of 
danger, or overwhelmed by some resistless passion. 
We then soon discover, that difficulty is, for the 
most part, the daughter of idleness, that the ob- 
stacles with which our way seemed to be obstructed 
were only phantoms, which we believed real, be- 

cause we durst not advance to a close examination; 
and we learn that it is impossible to determine 
without experience how much constancy may en- 
dure, or perseverance perform. 

But whatever pleasure may be found in the re- 
view of distresses when art or courage has sur- 
| mounted them, few will be persuaded to wish that 
| 109 


THE RAMBLER 


they may be awakened by want, or terrour, to the 
conviction of their own abilities. Every one should 
therefore endeavour to invigorate himself by reason 
and reflection, and determine to exert the latent 
force that nature may have reposed in him, before 
the hour of exigence comes upon him, and compul- 
sion shall torture him to diligence. It is below the 
dignity of a reasonable being to owe that strength 
to necessity which ought always to act at the call 
of choice, or to need any other motive to industry 
than the desire of performing his duty. 

Reflections that may drive away despair, cannot 
be wanting to him who considers how much life is 
now advanced beyond the state of naked, undisci- 
plined, uninstructed nature. Whatever has been 
effected for convenience or elegance, while it was 
yet unknown, was believed impossible; and there- 
fore would never have been attempted, had not 
some, more daring than the rest, adventured to bid 
defiance to prejudice and censure. Nor is there yet 
any reason to doubt that the same labour would be 
rewarded with the same success. There are qualities 
in the products of nature yet undiscovered, and 
combinations in the powers of art yet untried. It is 
the duty of every man to endeavour that something 
may be added by his industry to the hereditary 
aggregate of knowledge and happiness. To add 


much ean indeed be the lot of few, but to add some- — 
thing, however little, every one may hope; and of | 


every honest endeavour, it is certain, that, however 
unsuccessful, it will be at last rewarded. 
110 


i 


= 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 130. SATURDAY, JUNE 15, 1751 


Non sic prata novo vere decentia 
Astatis calide dispoliat vapor: 
Savit solstitio cum medius dies; 
Ut fulgor teneris qui radiat genis 

Momento rapitur! nullaque non dies 

Formosi spolium corporis abstulit. 

Res est forma fuga. quis sapiens bono 

Confidat fragili? Seneca, Hippol. act. ii. 764. 





Not faster in the summer’s ray 

The spring’s frail beauty fades away, 

Than anguish and decay consume 

The smiling virgin’s rosy bloom. 

Some beauty’s snatch’d each day, each hour; 

For beauty is a fleeting flow’r: 

Then how can wisdom e’er confide 

In beauty’s momentary pride? ELPHINSTON. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


OU have very lately observed that in the 

numerous subdivisions of the world, every class 
and order of mankind have joys and sorrows of 
their own; we all feel hourly pain and pleasure from 
events which pass unheeded before other eyes, but 
can scarcely communicate our perceptions to minds 
pre-occupied by different objects, any more than 
the delight of well-disposed colours or harmonious 
sounds can be imparted to such as want the senses 
of hearing or of sight. 

I am so strongly convinced of the justness of this 
remark, and have on so many occasions discovered 
with how little attention pride looks upon calamity 
of which she thinks herself not in danger, and indo- 
lence listens to complaint when it is not echoed by 

111 


THE RAMBLER 


her own remembrance, that though I am about to 
lay the occurrences of my life before you, I question 
whether you will condescend to peruse my narra- 
tive, or, without the help of some female specula- 
tists, to be able to understand it. 

I was born a beauty. From the dawn of reason I 
had my regard turned wholly upon myself, nor can 
recollect any thing earlier than praise and admira- 
tion. My mother, whose face had luckily advanced 
her to a condition above her birth, thought no evil 
so great as deformity. She had not the power of 
imagining any other defect than a cloudy com- 
plexion, or disproportionate features; and therefore 
contemplated me as an assemblage of all that could 
raise envy or desire, and predicted with triumphant 
fondness the extent of my conquests, and the 
number of my slaves. 

She never mentioned any of my young acquaint- 
ance before me, but to remark how much they fell 
below my perfection; how one would have had a 
fine face but that her eyes were without lustre; how 
another struck the sight at a distance, but wanted 
my hair and teeth at a nearer view; another dis- 
graced an elegant shape with a brown skin; some had 
short fingers, and others dimples in a wrong place. 

As she expected no happiness nor advantage but 
from beauty, she thought nothing but beauty 
worthy of her care; and her maternal kindness was 
chiefly exercised in contrivances to protect me from 
any accident that might deface me with a scar, or 
stain me with a freckle: she never thought me suf-_ 

112 | 


THE RAMBLER 


ficiently shaded from the sun, or screened from the 
fire. She was severe or indulgent with no other in- 
tention than the preservation of my form; she ex- 
cused me from work, lest I should learn to hang 
down my head, or harden my finger with a needle; 
she snatched away my book, because a young lady 
in the neighbourhood had made her eyes red with 
reading by a candle; but she would scarcely suffer 


me to eat, lest I should spoil my shape, nor to walk 


lest I should swell my ancle with a sprain. At night 
I was accurately surveyed from head to foot, lest I 
should have suffered any diminution of my charms 
in the adventures of the day; and was never per- 
mitted to sleep, till I had passed through the 
cosmetick discipline, part of which was a regular 
lustration performed with bean-flower water and 
May-dews; my hair was perfumed with variety of 
unguents, by some of which it was to be thickened, 
and by others to be curled. The softness of my 
hands was secured by medicated gloves, and my 
bosom rubbed with a pomade prepared by my 
mother, of virtue to discuss pimples, and clear 
discolorations. 

I was always called up early, because the morning 
air gives a freshness to the cheeks; but I was placed 
behind a curtain in my mother’s chamber, because 
the neck is easily tanned by the rising sun. I was 
then dressed with a thousand precautions, and 
again heard my own praises, and triumphed in 
the compliments and prognostications of all that 


approached me. 
Voi. 3—8 118 


THE RAMBLER 


My mother was not so much prepossessed with 
an opinion of my natural excellencies as not to 
think some cultivation necessary to their com- 
pletion. She took care that I should want none of 
the accomplishments included in female education, 
or considered necessary in fashionable life. I was 
looked upon in my ninth year as the chief ornament 
of the dancing-master’s ball; and Mr. Ariet used to 
reproach his other scholars with my performances 
on the harpsichord. At twelve I was remarkable for 
playing my cards with great elegance of manner, 
and accuracy of judgment. 

At last the time came when my mother thought 
me perfect in my exercises, and qualified to display 
in the open world those accomplishments which 
had yet only been discovered in select parties, or 
domestick assemblies. Preparations were therefore 
made for my appearance on a publick night, which 
she considered as the most important and critical 
moment of my life. She cannot be charged with 
neglecting any means of recommendation, or leav- 
ing any thing to chance which prudence could 
ascertain. Every ornament was tried in every 
position, every friend was consulted about the 
colour of my dress, and the mantuamakers were 
harassed with directions and alterations. 

At last the night arrived from which my future 
life was to be reckoned. I was dressed and sent out 
to conquer, with a heart beating like that of an old 
knight-errant at his first sally. Scholars have told 
me of a Spartan matron, who, when she armed her 

114 


THE RAMBLER 


son for battle, bade him bring back his shield, or be 
brought upon it. My venerable parent dismissed me 
to a field, in her opinion of equal glory, with a com- 
mand to shew that I was her daughter, and not to 
return without a lover. 

I went, and was received like other pleasing nov- 
elties with a tumult of applause. Every man who 
valued himself upon the graces of his person, or the 
elegance of his address, crowded about me, and wit 
and splendour contended for my notice. I was de- 
lightfully fatigued with incessant civilities, which 
were made more pleasing by the apparent envy of 
those whom my presence exposed to neglect, and 
returned with an attendant equal in rank and wealth 
to my utmost wishes, and from this time stood in 
the first rank of beauty, was followed by gazers in 
the Mall, celebrated in the papers of the day, imi- 
tated by all who endeavoured to rise into fashion, 
and censured by those whom age or disappointment 
forced to retire. 

My mother, who pleased herself with the hopes 
of seeing my exaltation, dressed me with all the ex- 
uberance of finery; and when I represented to her 
that a fortune might be expected proportionate to 
my appearance, told me that she should scorn the 
reptile who could inquire after the fortune of a girl 
like me. She advised me to prosecute my victories, 
and time would certainly bring me a captive who 

might deserve the honour of being enchained for ever. 
__ My lovers were indeed so numerous, that I had 
no other care than that of determining to whom I 
115 


THE RAMBLER 


should seem to give the preference. But having 
been steadily and industriously instructed to pre- 
serve my heart from any impressions which might 
hinder me from consulting my interest, I acted 
with less embarrassment, because my choice was 
regulated by principles more clear and certain than 
the caprice of approbation. When I had singled out 
one from the rest as more worthy of encourage- 
ment, | proceeded in my measures by the rules of 
art; and yet when the ardour of the first visits was 
spent, generally found a sudden declension of my 
influence; I felt in myself the want of some power 
to diversify amusement, and enliven conversation, 
and could not but suspect that my mind failed in 
performing the promises of my face. This opinion 
was soon confirmed by one of my lovers, who mar- 
ried Lavinia with less beauty and fortune than mine, 
because he thought a wife ought to have qualities 
which might make her amiable when her bloom 
was past. 

The vanity of my mother would not suffer her 
to discover any defect in one that had been formed 
by her instructions, and had all the excellence which 
she herself could boast. She told me that nothing 
so much hindered the advancement of women as 
literature and wit, which generally frightened away 
those that could make the best settlements, and 
drew about them a needy tribe of poets and _ phi- 
losophers, that filled their heads with wild notions of 
content, and contemplation, and virtuous obscurity. 
She therefore enjoined me to improve my minuet- 

116 


—————— 


THE RAMBLER 


step with a new French dancing-master, and wait 
the event of the next birth-night. 

I had now almost completed my nineteenth 
year: if my charms had lost any of their softness, it 
was more than compensated by additional dignity; 
and if the attractions of innocence were impaired, 
their place was supplied by the arts of allurement. 
I was therefore preparing for a new attack, with- 
out any abatement of my confidence, when, in the 
midst of my hopes and schemes, I was seized by 
that dreadful malady which has so often put a sud- 
den end to the tyranny of beauty. I recovered my 
health after a long confinement; but when I looked 
again on that face which had been often flushed 
with transport at its own reflection, and saw all that 
I had learned to value, all that I had endeavoured 
to improve, all that had procured me honours or 
praises, irrecoverably destroyed, I sunk at once into 
melancholy and despondence. My pain was not 
much consoled or alleviated by my mother, who 
grieved that I had not lost my life together with 
my beauty; and declared, that she thought a young 
woman divested of her charms had nothing for 
which those who loved her could desire to save her 
from the grave. 

Having thus continued my relation to the period 
from which my life took a new course, I shall con- 
clude it in another letter, if, by publishing this, you 
shew any regard for the correspondence of, 

Sir, &c. 
VICTORIA. 
117 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 131. TUESDAY, JUNE 18, 1751 





Fatis accede, Deisque, 

Hi cole felices, miseros fuge. sidera terre 

Ué distant, ut flamma mari, sic utile recto. 

Lucan. Lib. viii. 486. 


Still follow where auspicious fates invite; 

Caress the happy, and the wretched slight. 

Sooner shall jarring elements unite, 

Than truth with gain, than interest with right. F. Lewis. 


HERE is scarcely any sentiment in which, 

amidst the innumerable varieties of inclination 
that nature or accident have scattered in the world, 
we find greater numbers concurring, than in the 
wish for riches; a wish, indeed, so prevalent that it 
may be considered as universal and transcendental, 
as the desire in which all other desires are included, 
and of which the various purposes which actuate 
mankind are only subordinate species and different 
modifications. 

Wealth is the general centre of inclination, the 
point to which all minds preserve an invariable 
tendency, and from which they afterwards diverge 
in numberless directions. Whatever is the remote 
or ultimate design, the immediate care is to be rich; 
and in whatever enjoyment we intend finally to 
acquiesce, we seldom consider it as attainable but 
by the means of money. Of wealth therefore all 
unanimously confess the value, nor is there any 
disagreement but about the use. 

No desire can be formed which riches do not 
assist to gratify. He that places his happiness in 

118 


THE RAMBLER 


splendid equipage or numerous dependants, in re- 
fined praise or popular acclamations, in the accumu- 
lation of curiosities or the revels of luxury, in 
splendid edifices or wide plantations, must still, 
either by birth or acquisition, possess riches. They 
may be considered as the elemental principles of 
pleasure, which may be combined with endless 
diversity ; as the essential and necessary substance, 
of which only the form is left to be adjusted by 
choice. 

The necessity of riches being thus apparent, it is 
not wonderful that almost every mind has been 
employed in endeavours to acquire them; that 
multitudes have vied in arts by which life is fur- 
nished with accommodations, and which therefore 
mankind may reasonably be expected to reward. 

It had, indeed, been happy, if this predominant 
appetite had operated only in concurrence with 
virtue, by influencing none but those who were 
zealous to deserve what they were eager to possess, 
and had abilities to improve their own fortunes by 
contributing to the ease or happiness of others. 
To have riches and to have merit would then have 
been the same, and success might reasonably have 
been considered as a proof of excellence. 

But we do not find that any of the wishes of 
men keep a stated proportion to their powers of at- 
tainment. Many envy and desire wealth, who can 
never procure it by honest industry or useful knowl- 
edge. They therefore turn their eyes about to 
examine what other methods can be found of gain- 

119 


THE RAMBLER 


ing that which none, however impotent or worth- 
less, will be content to want. 

A little inquiry will discover that there are nearer 
ways to profit than through the intricacies of art, 
or up the steeps of labour; what wisdom and vir- 
tue scarcely receive at the close of life, as the 
recompense of long toil and repeated efforts, is 
brought within the reach of subtilty and dishonesty 
by more expeditious and compendious measures: 
the wealth of credulity is an open prey to false- 
hood; and the possessions of ignorance and imbecil- 
ity are easily stolen away by the conveyances of 
secret artifice, or seized by the gripe of unresisted 
violence. 

It is likewise not hard to discover that riches 
always procure protection for themselves, that they 
dazzle the eyes of inquiry, divert the celerity of 
pursuit, or appease the ferocity of vengeance. When 
any man is incontestably known to have large pos- 
sessions, very few think it requisite to inquire by 
what practices they were obtained; the resentment 
of mankind rages only against the struggles of 
feeble and timorous corruption, but when it has 
surmounted the first opposition, it is afterwards 
supported by favour, and animated by applause. 

The prospect of gaining speedily what is ardently 
desired, and the certainty of obtaining by every 
accession of advantage an addition of security, have 
so far prevailed upon the passions of mankind, that 
the peace of life is destroyed by a general and in- 
cessant struggle for riches. It is observed of gold, 

120 








THE RAMBLER 


by an old epigrammatist, that “‘ To have it is to be 
in fear, and to want it is to be in sorrow.’’ There 
is no condition which is not disquieted either with 
the care of gaining or of keeping money; and the 
race of man may be divided in a political estimate 
between those who are practising fraud, and those 
who are repelling it. 

If we consider the present state of the world, it 
will be found, that all confidence is lost among 
mankind, that no man ventures to act, where money 
can be endangered upon the faith of another. It is 
impossible to see the long scrolls in which every 
contract is included, with all their appendages of 
seals and attestation, without wondering at the de- 
pravity of those beings, who must be restrained 
_ from violation of promise by such formal and pub- 
lick evidences, and precluded from equivocation 
and subterfuge by such punctilious minuteness. 
Among all the satires to which folly and wickedness 
have given occasion, none is equally severe with a 
bond or a settlement. 

Of the various arts by which riches may be ob- 
tained, the greater part are at the first view irrecon- 
cileable with the laws of virtue; some are openly 
flagitious, and practised not only in neglect, but in 
defiance of faith and justice; and the rest are on 
every side so entangled with dubious tendencies, 
and so beset with perpetual temptations, that very 
few, even of those who are not yet abandoned, are 
able to preserve their innocence, or can produce any 
other claim to pardon than that they deviated from 

121 


THE RAMBLER 


the right less than others, and have sooner and 
more diligently endeavoured to return. 

One of the chief characteristicks of the golden 
age, of the age in which neither care nor danger 
had intruded on mankind, is the community of 
possessions: strife and fraud were totally excluded, 
and every turbulent passion was stilled by plenty 
and equality. Such were indeed happy times, but 
such times can return no more. Community of pos- 
session must include spontaneity of production; for 
what is obtained by labour will be of right the 
property of him by whose labour it is gained. And 
while a rightful claim to pleasure or to affluence 
must be procured either by slow industry or uncer- 
tain hazard, there will always be multitudes whom 
cowardice or impatience incite to more safe and 
more speedy methods, who strive to pluck the fruit 
without cultivating the tree, and to share the ad- 
vantages of victory without partaking the danger 
of the battle. 

In later ages, the conviction of the danger to 
which virtue is exposed while the mind continues 
open to the influence of riches, has determined 
many to vows of perpetual poverty ; they have sup- 
pressed desire by cutting off the possibility of 
gratification, and secured their peace by destroying 
the enemy whom they had no hope of reducing to 
quiet subjection. But, by debarring themselves from 
evil, they have rescinded many opportunities of 
good; they have too often sunk into inactivity and 
uselessness; and, though they have forborne to in- 

122 


THE RAMBLER 


jure society, have not fully paid their contributions 
to its happiness. 

While riches are so necessary to present conveni- 
ence, and so much more easily obtained by crimes 
than virtues, the mind can only be secured from 
yielding to the continual impulse of covetousness 
by the preponderation of unchangeable and eternal 
motives. Gold will turn the intellectual balance, 
when weighed only against reputation; but will be 
light and ineffectual when the opposite scale is 
charged with justice, veracity, and piety’. 


No. 132. SATURDAY, JUNE 22, 1751 


—— Dociles imitandis 
Turpibus ac pravis omnes sumus.——-—— 
Juv. Sat. xiv. 40. 


The mind of mortals, in perverseness strong, 
Imbibes with dire docility the wrong. 





TO THE RAMBLER. 
MR. RAMBLER, 


WAS bred a scholar, and after the usual course 
of education, found it necessary to employ for the 
support of life that learning which I had almost 


aJohnson often conversed, as well as wrote, on riches. In his con- 
versations on the subject, amidst his often indulged laxity of talk, there 
was ever a deep insight into the human heart. ‘‘All the arguments,”’ 
he once with keen satire remarked, ‘‘ which are brought to represent 
poverty as no evil, shew it to be evidently a great evil. You never find 
people labouring to convince you that you may live happily upon a plen- 
tiful fortune. So you hear people talking how miserable a king must be, 
and yet they all wish to be in his place.’ Boswell, vol. i. p. 422. 

When Simonides was asked whether it were better to be wise or rich, 
he gave an answer in favour of wealth. ‘‘For,’’ said he, ‘‘I always be- 
hold the wise lingering at the gates ofthe wealthy.”’ Aristot. Rhet. ii. 18. 


123 


THE RAMBLER 


exhausted my little fortune in acquiring. The lucra- 
tive professions drew my regard with equal attrac- 
tion; each presented ideas which excited my 
curiosity, and each imposed duties which terrified 
my apprehension. 

There is no temper more unpropitious to interest 
than desultory application and unlimited inquiry, 
by which the desires are held in a perpetual equi- 
poise, and the mind fluctuates between different 
purposes without determination. I had books of 
every kind round me, among which I divided my 
time as caprice or accident directed. I often spent 
the first hours of the day, in considering to what 
study I should devote the rest, and at last snatched 
up any author that lay upon the table, or perhaps 
fled to a coffee-house for deliverance from the 
anxiety of irresolution, and the gloominess of 
solitude. 

Thus my little patrimony grew imperceptibly 
less, till I was roused from my literary slumber by 
a creditor, whose importunity obliged me to pacify 
him with so large a sum, that what remained was 
not sufficient to support me more than eight 
months. I hope you will not reproach me with 
avarice or cowardice, if I acknowledge that I now 
thought myself in danger of distress, and obliged 
to endeavour after some certain competence. 

There have been heroes of negligence, who have 
laid the price of their last acre in a drawer, and, 
without the least interruption of their tranquillity, 


or abatement of their expenses, taken out one piece — 


124 


THE RAMBLER 


after another, till there was no more remaining. 
But I was not born to such dignity of imprudence, 
or such exaltation above the cares and necessities 
of life; I therefore immediately engaged my friends 
to procure me a little employment, which might 
set me free from the dread of poverty, and afford 
me time to plan out some final scheme of lasting 
advantage. 

My friends were struck with honest solicitude, 
and immediately promised their endeavours for my 
extrication. They did not suffer their kindness to 
languish by delay, but prosecuted their inquiries 
with such success, that in less than a month I was 
perplexed with variety of offers and contrariety of 
prospects. 

_ I had however no time for long pauses of consid- 
eration; and therefore soon resolved to accept the 
office of instructing a young nobleman in the house 
of his father: I went to the seat at which the fam- 
ily then happened to reside, was received with 
great politeness, and invited to enter immediately 
on my charge. The terms offered were such as I 
should willingly have accepted, though my fortune 
had allowed me greater liberty of choice: the re- 
spect with which I was treated, flattered my vanity ; 
and perhaps the splendour of the apartments, and 
the luxury of the table, were not wholly without 
their influence. I immediately complied with the 
proposals, and received the young lord into my care. 

Having no desire to gain more than I should 

truly deserve, I very diligently prosecuted my un- 
125 


THE RAMBLER 


dertaking, and had the satisfaction of discovering 
in my pupil a flexible temper, a quick apprehension, 
and a retentive memory. I did not much doubt 
that my care would, in time, produce a wise and 
useful counsellor to the state, though my labours 
were somewhat obstructed by want of authority, 
and the necessity of complying with the freaks of 
negligence, and of waiting patiently for the lucky 
moment of voluntary attention. To a man whose 
imagination was filled with the dignity of knowl- 
edge, and to whom a studious life had made all the 
common amusements insipid and contemptible, it 
was not very easy to suppress his indignation, when 
he saw himself forsaken in the midst of his lecture, 
for an opportunity to catch an insect, and found his 
instructions debarred from access to the intellectual 
faculties, by the memory of a childish frolick, or 
the desire of a new play-thing. 

Those vexations would have recurred less fre- 
quently, had not his mamma, by entreating at one 
time that he should be excused from a task as a 
reward for some petty compliance, and withholding 
him from his book at another, to gratify herself or 
her visitants with his vivacity, shewn him that every 
thing was more pleasing and more important than 
knowledge, and that study was to be endured rather 
than chosen, and was only the business of those 
hours which pleasure left vacant, or discipline 
usurped. 

I thought it my duty to complain, in tender 
terms, of these frequent avocations; but was an- 

126 


THE RAMBLER 


swered, that rank and fortune might reasonably 
hope for some indulgence; that the retardation of 
my pupil’s progress would not be imputed to any 
negligence or inability of mine; and that with the 
success which satisfied every body else, I might 
surely satisfy myself. I had now done my duty, 
and without more remonstrances continued to in- 
culcate my precepts whenever they could be heard, 
gained every day new influence, and found that by 
degrees my scholar began to feel the quick impulses 
of curiosity, and the honest ardour of studious 
ambition. 

At length it was resolved to pass a winter in 
London. The lady had too much fondness for her 
son to live five months without him, and too high 
an opinion of his wit and learning to refuse her 
vanity the gratification of exhibiting him to the 
publick. I remonstrated against too early an ac- 
quaintance with cards and company; but, with a 
soft contempt of my ignorance and pedantry, she 
said, that he had been already confined too long to 
solitary study, and it was now time to shew him 
the world; nothing was more a brand of meanness 
than bashful timidity; gay freedom and elegant 
assurance were only to be gained by mixed conver- 
sation, a frequent intercourse with strangers, and a 
timely introduction to splendid assemblies; and she 
had more than once observed, that his forwardness 
and complaisance began to desert him, that he was 
silent when he had not something of consequence 
to say, blushed whenever he happened to find him- 

127 


THE RAMBLER 


self mistaken, and hung down his head in the pres- 
ence of the ladies, without the readiness of reply, 
and activity of officiousness, remarkable in young 
gentlemen that are bred in London. 

Again I found resistance hopeless, and again 
thought it proper to comply. We entered the coach, 
and in four days were placed in the gayest and 
most magnificent region of the town. My pupil, 
who had for several years lived at a remote seat, 
was immediately dazzled with a thousand beams 
of novelty and shew. His imagination was filled 
with the perpetual tumult of pleasure that passed 
before him, and it was impossible to allure him 
from the window, or to overpower by any charm 
of eloquence the rattle of coaches, and the sounds 
which echoed from the doors in the neighbourhood. 
In three days his attention, which he began to re- 
gain, was disturbed by a rich suit, in which he was 
equipped for the reception of company, and which, 
having been long accustomed to a plain dress, he 
could not at first survey without ecstasy. 

The arrival of the family was now formally noti- 
fied; every hour of every day brought more inti- 
mate or more distant acquaintances to the door; 
and my pupil was indiscriminately introduced to 
all, that he might accustom himself to change of 
faces, and be rid with speed of his rustick diffidence. 
He soon endeared himself to his mother by the 
speedy acquisition or recovery of her darling quali- 
ties; his eyes sparkle at a numerous assembly, and 
his heart dances at the mention of a ball. He has at 

128 


THE RAMBLER 


once caught the infection of high life, and has no 
other test of principles or actions than the quality 
of those to whom they are ascribed. He begins al- 
ready to look down on me with superiority, and 
submits to one short lesson in a week, as an act of 
condescension rather than obedience; for he is of 
opinion, that no tutor is properly qualified who 
cannot speak French; and having formerly learned 
a few familiar phrases from his sister’s governess, 
he is every day soliciting his mamma to procure 
him a foreign footman, that he may grow polite by 
his conversation. I am not yet insulted, but find 
myself likely to become soon a superfluous incum- 
brance, for my scholar has now no time for science, 
or for virtue; and the lady yesterday declared him so 


much the favourite of every company, that she was 








afraid he would not have an hour in the day to 
dance and fence. 
I am, &c. 
EUMATHES. 


Vor. 3—9 129 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 133. TUESDAY, JUNE 25, 1751 


Magna quidem, sacris que dat precepta libellis 

Victrix fortune sapientia. Dicimus autem 

Hos quoque felices, qui ferre incommoda vite 

Nec jactare jugum, vita didicere magistra. Juv. Sat. xiii. 19. 


Let Stoicks ethicks’ haughty rules advance 

To combat fortune, and to conquer chance: 

Yet happy those, though not so learn’d are thought, 

Whom life instructs, who by experience taught, 

For new to come from past misfortunes look, 

Nor shake the yoke, which galls the more ’tis shook. 
CREECH. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


OU have shewn, by the publication of my let- 

ter, that you think the life of Victoria not 
wholly unworthy of the notice of a philosopher: I 
shall therefore continue my narrative, without any 
apology for unimportance which you have dignified, 
or for inaccuracies which you are to correct. 

When my life appeared to be no longer in dan- 
ger, and as much of my strength was recovered as 
enabled me to bear the agitation of a coach, I was 
placed at a lodging in a neighbouring village, to 
which my mother dismissed me with a faint em- 
brace, having repeated her command not to expose 
my face too soon to the sun or wind, and told me 
that with care I might perhaps become tolerable 
again. The prospect of being tolerable had very 
little power to elevate the imagination of one who 
had so long been accustomed to praise and ecstasy ; 
but it was some satisfaction to be separated from 
my mother, who was incessantly ringing the knell 

130 


THE RAMBLER 


of departed beauty, and never entered my room 
without the whine of condolence, or the growl of 
anger. She often wandered over my face, as travel- 
lers over the ruins of a celebrated city, to note 
every place which had once been remarkable for a 
happy feature. She condescended to visit my re- 
tirement, but always left me more melancholy; for 
after a thousand trifling inquiries about my diet, and 
a minute examination of my looks, she generally 
concluded with a sigh, that I should never more be 
fit to be seen. 

At last I was permitted to return home, but found 
no great improvement of my condition; for I was 
imprisoned in my chamber as a criminal, whose 
appearance would disgrace my friends, and condemn 
me to be tortured into new beauty. Every experi- 
ment which the officiousness of folly could com- 
municate, or the credulity of ignorance admit, was 
tried upon me. Sometimes I was covered with 
emollients, by which it was expected that all the 
scars would be filled, and my cheeks plumped up to 
their former smoothness; and sometimes I was 
punished with artificial excoriations, in hopes of 
gaining new graces with a new skin. The cosmetick 
science was exhausted upon me; but who can repair 
the ruins of nature? My mother was forced to give me 
rest at last, and abandon me to the fate of a fallen 
toast, whose fortune she considered as a hopeless 
game, no longer worthy of solicitude or attention. 

The condition of a young woman who has never 
thought or heard of any other excellence than 

131 


THE RAMBLER 


beauty. and whom the sudden blast of disease 
wrinkles in her bloom, is indeed sufficiently calami- 
tous. She is at once deprived of all that gave her 
eminence or power; of all that elated her pride, or 
animated her activity; all that filled her days with 
pleasure, and her nights with hope; all that gave 
gladness to the present hour, or brightened her 
prospects of futurity. It is perhaps not in the power 
of a man whose attention has been divided by diver- 
sity of pursuits, and who has not been accustomed 
to derive from others much of his happiness, to 
image to himself such helpless destitution, such dis- 
mal inanity. Every object of pleasing contemplation 
is at once snatched away, and the soul finds every 
receptacle of ideas empty, or filled only with the 
memory of joys that can return no more. All is 
gloomy privation, or impotent desire; the faculties 
of anticipation slumber in despondency, or the 
powers of pleasure mutiny for employment. 

I was so little able to find entertainment for my- 
self, that I was forced in a short time to venture 
abroad as the solitary savage is driven by hunger 
from his cavern. I entered with all the humility of 
disgrace into assemblies, where I had lately sparkled 
with gaiety, and towered with triumph. I was not 
wholly without hope, that dejection had misrepre- 
sented me to myself, and that the remains of my 
former face might yet have some attraction and in- 
fluence; but the first circle of visits convinced me, 
that my reign was at an end; that life and death 
were no longer in my hands; that I was no more to 

182 


THE RAMBLER 


practise the glance of command, or the frown of 
prohibition; to receive the tribute of sighs and 
praises, or be soothed with the gentle murmurs of 
amorous timidity. My opinion was now unheard, 
and my proposals were unregarded ; the narrowness 
of my knowledge, and the meanness of my senti- 
ments, were easily discovered, when the eyes were 
no longer engaged against the judgment; and it was 
observed, by those who had formerly been charmed 
with my vivacious loquacity, that my understanding 
was impaired as well as my face, and that I was no 
longer qualified to fill a place in any company but 
a party at cards. 

It is scarcely to be imagined how soon the mind 
sinks to a level with the condition. I, who had long 
considered all who approached me as vassals con- 
demned to regulate their pleasures by my eyes, 
and harass their inventions for my entertainment, 
was in less than three weeks reduced to receive 
a ticket with professions of obligation; to catch 
with eagerness at a compliment; and to watch 
with all the anxiousness of dependance, lest 
any little civility that was paid me should pass 
unacknowledged. 

Though the negligence of the men was not very 
pleasing when compared with vows and adoration, 
yet it was far more supportable than the insolence 
of my own sex. For the first ten months after my 
return into the world, I never entered a single house 
in which the memory of my downfall was not re- 
vived. At one place I was congratulated on my 

133 


THE RAMBLER 


escape with life; at another I heard of the benefits 
of early inoculation; by some I have been told in 
express terms, that I am not yet without my 
charms; others have whispered at my entrance, 
This is the celebrated beauty. One told me of a 
wash that would smooth the skin; and another of- 
fered me her chair that I might not front the light. 
Some soothed me with the observation that none 
can tell how soon my case may be her own; and 
some thought it proper to receive me with mourn- 
ful tenderness, formal condolence, and consolatory 
blandishments. 

Thus was I every day harassed with all the strata- 
gems of well-bred malignity; yet insolence was 
more tolerable than solitude, and I therefore per- 
sisted to keep my time at the doors of my acquaint- 
ance, without gratifying them with any appearance 
of resentment or depression. I expected that their 
exultation would in time vapour away ; that the joy 
of their superiority would end with its novelty ; and 
that I should be suffered to glide along in my 
present form among the nameless multitude, whom 
nature never intended to excite envy or admi- 
ration, nor enabled to delight the eye or inflame 
the heart. 

This was naturally to be expected, and this I 
began to experience. But when I was no longer 
agitated by the perpetual ardour of resistance, and 
effort of perseverance, I found more sensibly the 
want of those entertainments which had formerly 
delighted me; the day rose upon me without an 

134 


THE RAMBLER 


engagement; and the evening closed in its natural 
gloom, without summoning me to a concert or a 
ball. None had any care to find amusements for me, 
and I had no power of amusing myself. Idleness 
exposed me to melancholy, and life began to lan- 
guish in motionless indifference. 

Misery and shame are nearly allied. It was not 
without many struggles that I prevailed on myself 
to confess my uneasiness to Euphemia, the only 
friend who had never pained me with comfort or 
with pity. I at last laid my calamities before her, 
rather to ease my heart, than receive assistance. 
‘*We must distinguish,’’ said she, ‘‘ my Victoria, 
those evils which are imposed by Providence, from 
those to which we ourselves give the power of hurt- 
ing us. Of your calamity, a small part is the inflic- 
tion of Heaven, the rest is little more than the 
corrosion of idle discontent. You have lost that 
which may indeed sometimes contribute to happi- 
ness, but to which happiness is by no means in- 
separably annexed. You have lost what the greater 
number of the human race never have possessed; 
what those on whom it is bestowed for the most 
part possess in vain; and what you, while it was 
yours, knew not how to use: you have only lost 
early what the laws of nature forbid you to keep 
long, and have lost it while your mind is yet flexible, 
and while you have time to substitute more valu- 
able and more durable excellencies. Consider your- 
self, my Victoria, as a being born to know, to reason, 
to act; rise at once from your dream of melancholy 

135 


THE RAMBLER 


to wisdom and to piety ; you will find that there are 
other charms than those of beauty, and other joys 
than the praise of fools. ’’ 
I am, Sir, &c. 
VICTORIA. 


No. 134. SATURDAY, JUNE 29, 1751 


Quis scit an adjiciant hodierne crastina summe 
Tempora Dit superi? Hor. Lib. iv. Ode vii. 16. 


Who knows if Heav’n, with ever-bounteous pow’r, 
Shall add to-morrow to the present hour? FRanNcIs. 


SAT yesterday morning employed in deliberat- 

ing on which, among the various subjects that 
occurred to my imagination, I should bestow the 
paper of to-day. After a short effort of meditation 
by which nothing was determined, I grew every 
moment more irresolute, my ideas wandered from 
the first intention, and I rather wished to think, 
than thought upon any settled subject; till at last 
I was awakened from this dream of study by a 
summons from the press; the time was now come 
for which I had been thus negligently purposing to 
provide, and, however dubious or sluggish, I was 
now necessitated to write. 

Though to a writer whose ‘design is so compre- 
hensive and miscellaneous, that he may accommo- 
date himself with a topick from every scene of life, 
or view of nature, it is no great aggravation of his 
task to be obliged to a sudden composition; yet I 
could not forbear to reproach myself for having so 
long neglected what was unavoidably to be done, 

136 


THE RAMBLER 


and of which every moment’s idleness increased the 
difficulty. There was however some pleasure in re- 
flecting that I, who had only trifled till diligence 
was necessary, might still congratulate myself upon 
my superiority to multitudes, who have trifled till 
diligence is vain; who can by no degree of activity 
or resolution recover the opportunities which have 
slipped away; and who are condemned by their 
own carelessness to hopeless calamity and barren 
sorrow. 

The folly of allowing ourselves to delay what we 
know cannot be finally escaped, is one of the general 
weaknesses, which, in spite of the instruction of 
moralists, and the remonstrances of reason, prevail 
to a greater or less degree in every mind; even they 
who most steadily withstand it, find it, if not the 
most violent, the most pertinacious of their passions, 
always renewing its attacks, and though often 
vanquished, never destroyed. | 

It is indeed natural to have particular regard to 
the time present, and to be most solicitous for that 
which is by its nearness enabled to make the 
strongest impressions. When therefore any sharp 
pain is to be suffered, or any formidable danger to 
be incurred, we can scarcely exempt ourselves 
wholly from the seducements of imagination; we 
readily believe that another day will bring some 
support or advantage which we now want; and are 
easily persuaded, that the moment of necessity 
which we desire never to arrive, is at a great 
distance from us. 

137 


THE RAMBLER 


Thus life is languished away in the gloom of 
anxiety, and consumed in collecting resolutions 
which the next morning dissipates; in forming pur- 
poses which we scarcely hope to keep, and recon- 
ciling ourselves to our own cowardice by excuses, 
which, while we admit them, we know to be absurd. 
Our firmness is by the continual contemplation of 
misery, hourly impaired; every submission to our 
fear enlarges its dominion; we not only waste that 
time in which the evil we dread might have been 
suffered and surmounted, but even where procras- 
tination produces no absolute increase of our diffi- 
culties, make them less superable to ourselves by 
habitual terrours. When evils cannot be avoided, it 
is wise to contract the interval of expectation; to 
meet the mischiefs which will overtake us if we fly ; 
and suffer only their real malignity, without the 
conflicts of doubt, and anguish of anticipation. 

To act is far easier than to suffer; yet we every 
day see the progress of life retarded by the vis 
mertice, the mere repugnance to motion, and find 
multitudes repining at the want of that which noth- 
ing but idleness hinders them from enjoying. The 
case of Tantalus, in the region of poetick punish- 
ment, was somewhat to be pitied, because the fruits 
that hung about him retired from his hand; but 
what tenderness can be claimed by those who, 
though perhaps they suffer the pains of Tantalus, 
will never lift their hands for their own relief ? 

There is nothing more common among this torpid 
generation than murmurs and complaints; murmurs 

138 


THE RAMBLER 


at uneasiness which only vacancy and suspicion ex- 
pose them to feel, and complaints of distresses 
which it is in their own power to remove. Laziness 
is commonly associated with timidity. Either fear 
originally prohibits endeavours by infusing despair 
of success; or the frequent failure of irresolute 
struggles, and the constant desire of avoiding 
labour, impress by degrees false terrours on the 
mind. But fear, whether natural or acquired, when 
once it has full possession of the fancy, never fails 
to employ it upon visions of calamity, such as, if 
they are not dissipated by useful employment, will 
soon overcast it with horrours, and embitter life 
not only with those miseries by which all earthly 
beings are really more or less tormented, but with 
those which do not yet exist, and which can only be 
discerned by the perspicacity of cowardice. 
Among all who sacrifice future advantage to 
present inclination, scarcely any gain so little as 
those that suffer themselves to freeze in idleness. 
Others are corrupted by some enjoyment of more 
or less power to gratify the passions; but to neglect 
our duties, merely to avoid the labour of perform- 
ing them, a labour which is always punctually re- 
warded, is surely to sink under weak temptations. 
Idleness never can secure tranquillity; the call of 
reason and of conscience will pierce the closest 
pavilion of the sluggard, and though it may not have 
force to drive him from his down, will be loud 
enough to hinder him from sleep. Those moments 
which he cannot resolve to make useful, by devoting 
139 


THE RAMBLER 


them to the great business of his being, will still be 
usurped by powers that will not leave them to his 
disposal ; remorse and vexation will seize upon them, 
and forbid him to enjoy what he is so desirous to 
appropriate. 

There are other causes of inactivity incident to 
more active faculties and more acute discernment. 
He to whom many objects of pursuit arise at the 
same time, will frequently hesitate between different 
desires, till a rival has precluded him, or change his 
course as new attractions prevail, and harass himself 
without advancing. He who sees different ways to 
the same end, will, unless he watches carefully over 
his own conduct, lay out too much of his attention 
upon the comparison of probabilities, and the ad- 
justment of expedients, and pause in the choice of 
his road till some accident intercepts his journey. 
He whose penetration extends to remote conse- 
quences, and who, whenever he applies his attention 
to any design, discovers new prospects of advantage, 
and possibilities of improvement, will not easily be 
persuaded that his project is ripe for execution; but 
will superadd one contrivance to another, endeavour 
to unite various purposes in one operation, multiply 
complications, and refine niceties, till he is entangled 
in his own scheme, and bewildered in the perplexity 
of various intentions. He that resolves to unite all 
the beauties of situation in a new purchase, must 
waste his life in roving to no purpose from province 
to province. He that hopes in the same house to 
obtain every convenience, may draw plans and study 

140 


THE RAMBLER 


Palladio, but will never lay a stone. He will attempt 
a treatise on some important subject, and amass 
materials, consult authors, and study all the depend- 
ant and collateral parts of learning, but never con- 
clude himself qualified to write. He that has abilities 
to conceive perfection, will not easily be content 
without it; and since perfection cannot be reached, 
will lose the opportunity of doing well in the vain 
hope of unattainable excellence. 

The certainty that life cannot be long, and the 
probability that it will be much shorter than nature 
allows, ought to awaken every man to the active 
prosecution of whatever he is desirous to perform. 
It is true, that no diligence can ascertain success; 
death may intercept the swiftest career; but he who 
is cut off in the execution of an honest undertaking, 
has at least the honour of falling in his rank, and 
has fought the battle though he missed the victory. 


No. 185. TUESDAY, JULY 2, 1751 
Calum, non animum, mutant. Hor. Lib. i. Ep. xi. 27. 


Place may be chang’d; but who can change his mind? 


T is impossible to take a view on any side, or 
observe any of the various classes that form the 
great community of the world, without discovering 
the influence of example; and admitting with new 
conviction the observation of Aristotle, that man is 
an imitative being. The greater, far the greater 
number, follow the track which others have beaten, 
without any curiosity after new discoveries, or am- 
141 


THE RAMBLER 


bition of trusting themselves to their own conduct. 
And, of those who break the ranks and disorder the 
uniformity of the march, most return in a short 
time from their deviation, and prefer the equal and 
steady satisfaction of security before the frolicks of 
caprice and the honours of adventure. 

In questions difficult or dangerous it is indeed 
natural to repose upon authority, and, when fear 
happens to predominate, upon the authority of 
those whom we do not in general think wiser than 
ourselves. Very few have abilities requisite for the 
discovery of abstruse truth; and of those few some 
want leisure, and some resolution. But it is not so 
easy to find the reason of the universal submission 
to precedent where every man might safely judge 
for himself; where no irreparable loss can be haz- 
arded, nor any mischief of long continuance in- 
curred. Vanity might be expected to operate where 
the more powerful passions are not awakened; the 
mere pleasure of acknowledging no superior might 
produce slight singularities, or the hope of gaining 
some new degree of happiness awaken the mind to 
invention or experiment. 

If in any case the shackles of prescription could 
be wholly shaken off, and the imagination left to 
act without control, on what occasion should it be 
expected, but in the selection of lawful pleasure? 
Pleasure, of which the essence is choice; which 
compulsion dissociates from every thing to which 
nature has united it; and which owes not only its 
vigour but its being to the smiles of liberty. Yet 

142 


THE RAMBLER 


we see that the senses, as well as the reason, are 
regulated by credulity; and that most will feel, or 
say that they feel, the gratifications which others 
have taught them to expect. 

t this time of universal migration, when almost 
every one, considerable enough to attract regard, 
has retired, or is preparing with all the earnestness 
of distress to retire, into the country ; when nothing 


is to be heard but the hopes of speedy departure, 


or the complaints of involuntary delay ; 1 have often 
been tempted to inquire what happiness is to be 
gained, or what inconvenience to be avoided, by 
this stated recession?}Of the birds of passage, 
some follow the summer and some the winter, be- 
cause they live upon sustenance which only summer 
or winter can supply; but of the annual flight of 
human rovers it is much harder to assign the rea- 
son, because they do not appear either to find or 
seek any thing which is not equally afforded by the 
town and country. 

I believe that many of these fugitives may have 
heard of men whose continual wish was for the 
quiet of retirement, who watched every oppor- 
tunity to steal away from observation, to forsake 
the crowd, and delight themselves with the society 
of solitude. There is indeed scarcely any writer who 
has not celebrated the happiness of rural privacy, 
and delighted himself and his reader with the 
melody of birds, the whisper of groves, and the 
murmur of rivulets; nor any man eminent for ex- 
tent of capacity, or greatness of exploits, that has 

148 


THE RAMBLER 


not left behind him some memorials of lonely wis- 
dom, and silent dignity. 

But almost all absurdity of conduct arises from 
the imitation of those whom we cannot resemble. 
Those who thus testified their weariness of tumult 
and hurry, and hasted with so much eagerness to 
the leisure of retreat, were either men overwhelmed 
with the pressure of difficult employments, harassed 
with importunities, and distracted with multiplicity ; 
or men wholly engrossed by speculative sciences, 
who having no other end of life but to learn and 
teach, found their searches interrupted by the com- 
mon commerce of civility, and their reasonings dis- 
jointed by frequent interruptions. Such men might 
reasonably fly to that ease and convenience which 
their condition allowed them to find only in the 
country. The statesman who devoted the greater 
part of his time to the publick, was desirous of 
keeping the remainder in his own power. The gen- 
eral, ruffled with dangers, wearied with labours, and 
stunned with acclamations, gladly snatched an in- 
terval of silence and relaxation. The naturalist was 
unhappy where the works of Providence were not 
always before him. The reasoner could adjust his 
systems only where his mind was free from the in- 
trusion of outward objects. 

Such examples of solitude very few of those who 
are now hastening from the town, have any preten- 
sions to plead in their own justification, since they 
cannot pretend either weariness of labour, or desire 
of knowledge. They purpose nothing more than to 

144 


THE RAMBLER 


quit one scene of idleness for another, and after 
having trifled in publick, to sleep in secrecy. The 
utmost that they can hope to gain is the change 
of ridiculousness to obscurity, and the privilege of 
having fewer witnesses to a life of folly. He who is 
not sufficiently important to be disturbed in his 
pursuits, but spends all his hours according to 
his own inclination, and has more hours than his 
mental faculties enable him to fill either with en- 
joyment or desires, can have nothing to demand 
of shades and valleys. As bravery is said to be a 
panoply, insignificancy is always a shelter. 

There are, however, pleasures and advantages in 
a rural situation, which are not confined to philoso- 
phers and heroes. The freshness of the air, the ver- 
dure of the woods, the paint of the meadows, and 
the unexhausted variety which summer scatters 
upon the earth, may easily give delight to an un- 
learned spectator. It is not necessary that he who 
looks with pleasure on the colours of a flower should 
study the principles of vegetation, or that the 
Ptolemaick and Copernican system should be com- 
pared before the light of the sun can gladden, or 
its warmth invigorate. Novelty is itself a source of 
gratification; and Milton justly observes, that to 
him who has been long pent up in cities, no rural 
object can be presented, which will not delight or 
refresh some of his senses. 

Yet even these easy pleasures are missed by the 
greater part of those who waste their summer in 


the country. Should any man pursue his acquaint- 
Vor. 3—10 145 


THE RAMBLER 


ances to their retreats, he would find few of them 
listening to Philomel, loitering in woods, or pluck- 
ing daisies, catching the healthy gale of the morning, 
or watching the gentle coruscations of declining 
day. Some will be discovered at a window by the 
road side, rejoicing when a new cloud of dust 
gathers towards them, as at the approach of a 
momentary supply of conversation, and a short 
relief from the tediousness of unideal vacancy. 
Others are placed in the adjacent villages, where 
they look only upon houses as in the rest of the 
year, with no change of objects but what a remove 
to any new street in London might have given 
them. The same set of acquaintances still settle 
together, and the form of life is not otherwise 
diversified than by doing the same things in a dif- 
ferent place. They pay and receive visits in the 
usual form, they frequent the walks in the morning, 
they deal cards at night, they attend to the same 
tattle, and dance with the same partners; nor can 
they, at their return to their former habitation, 
congratulate themselves on any other advantage, 
than that they have passed their time like others of 
the same rank; and have the same right to talk 
of the happiness and beauty of the country, of hap- 
piness which they never felt, and beauty which they 
never regarded. 

To be able to procure its own entertainments, 
and to subsist upon its own stock, is not the pre- 
rogative of every mind. There are indeed under- 
standings so fertile and comprehensive, that they 

146 


THE RAMBLER 


can always feed reflection with new supplies, and 
suffer nothing from the preclusion of adventitious 
amusements; as some cities have within their own 
walls enclosed ground enough to feed their inhabit- 
ants in a siege. But others live only from day to 


day, and must be constantly enabled, by foreign 


supplies, to keep out the encroachments of languor 
and stupidity. Such could not indeed be blamed for 
hovering within reach of their usual pleasure, more 
than any other animal for not quitting its native 
element, were not their faculties contracted by their 
own fault. But let not those who go into the 
country, merely because they dare not be left alone 
at home, boast their love of nature, or their quali- 
fications for solitude; nor pretend that they receive 
instantaneous infusions of wisdom from the Dryads, 
and are able, when they leave smoke and noise 
behind, to act, or think, or reason for themselves. 


No. 136. SATURDAY, JULY 6, 1751 
°EyOpos Adp pot xstvos, dua@s atdao moAgay, 
"Og 7° Etepov psy xebOee dvi Ppsav, GAdo d8 Babel. 
Homer, I’. 343. 


Who dares think one thing, and another tell, 
My heart detests him as the gates of Hell. Pore. 


HE regard which they whose abilities are em- 

ployed in the works of imagination claim from 

the rest of mankind, arises in a great measure 

from their influence on futurity. Rank may be con- 

ferred by princes, and wealth bequeathed by misers 

or by robbers; but the honours of a lasting name, 
147 


THE RAMBLER 


and the veneration of distant ages, only the sons of 
learning have the power of bestowing. While there- 
fore it continues one of the characteristicks of 
rational nature to decline oblivion, authors never 
can be wholly overlooked in the search after hap- 
piness, nor become contemptible but by their own 
fault. 

The man who considers himself as constituted the 
ultimate judge of disputable characters, and en- 
trusted with the distribution of the last terrestrial 
rewards of merit, ought to summon all his fortitude 
to the support of his integrity, and resolve to dis- 
charge an office of such dignity with the most 
vigilant caution and scrupulous justice. To deliver 
examples to posterity, and to regulate the opinion 
of future times, is no slight or trivial undertaking ; 
nor is it easy to commit more atrocious treason 
against the great republick of humanity, than by 
falsifying its records and misguiding its decrees. 

To scatter praise or blame without regard to jus- 
tice, is to destroy the distinction of good and evil. 
Many have no other test of actions than general 
opinion; and all are so far influenced by a sense of 
reputation, that they are often restrained by fear 
of reproach, and excited by hope of honour, when 
other principles have lost their power; nor can any 
species of prostitution promote general depravity 
more than that which destroys the force of praise, 
by shewing that it may be acquired without deserv- 
ing it, and which, by setting free the active and 
ambitious from the dread of infamy, lets loose the 

148 


THE RAMBLER 


rapacity of power, and weakens the only authority 
by which greatness is controlled. 

Praise, like gold and diamonds, owes its value 
only to its scarcity. It becomes cheap as it becomes 
vulgar, and will no longer raise expectation, or ani- 
mate enterprise. It is therefore not only necessary, 
that wickedness, even when it is not safe to censure 
it, be denied applause, but that goodness be com- 
mended only in proportion to its degree; and that 
the garlands, due to the great benefactors of man- 
kind, be not suffered to fade upon the brow of 
him who can boast only petty services and easy 
virtues. 

Had these maxims been universally received, how 
much would have been added to the task of dedi- 
cation, the work on which all the power of modern 
wit has been exhausted. How few of these initial 
panegyricks had appeared, if the author had been 
obliged first to find a man of virtue, then to dis- 
tinguish the distinct species and degree of his desert, 
and at last to pay him only the honours which he 
might justly claim. It is much easier to learn the 
name of the last man whom chance has exalted to 
wealth and power, to obtain by the intervention of 
some of his domesticks the privilege of addressing 
him, or, in confidence of the general acceptance of 
flattery, to venture on an address without any pre- 
vious solicitation; and after having heaped upon him 
all the virtues to which philosophy had assigned a 
name, inform him how much more might be truly 
said, did not the fear of giving pain to his modesty 

149 


THE RAMBLER 


repress the raptures of wonder and the zeal of 
veneration. 

Nothing has so much degraded literature from 
its natural rank, as the practice of indecent and 
promiscuous dedication; for what credit can he ex- 
pect who professes himself the hireling of vanity, 
however profligate, and without shame or scruple, 
celebrates the worthless, dignifies the mean, and 
gives to the corrupt, licentious, and oppressive, the 
ornaments which ought only to add grace to truth, 
and loveliness to innocence? Every other kind of 
adulation, however shameful, however mischievous, 
is less detestable than the crime of counterfeiting 
characters, and fixing the stamp of literary sanc- 
tion upon the dross and refuse of the world. 

Yet I would not overwhelm the authors with 
the whole load of infamy, of which part, perhaps 
the greater part, ought to fall upon their patrons. 
If he that hires a bravo, partakes the guilt of mur- 
der, why should he who bribes a flatterer, hope to 
be exempted from the shame of falsehood? The un- 
happy dedicator is seldom without some motives 
which obstruct, though not destroy, the liberty of 
choice; he is oppressed by miseries which he hopes 
to relieve, or inflamed by ambition which he ex- 
pects to gratify. But the patron has no incitements 
equally violent; he can receive only a short gratifi- 
cation, with which nothing but stupidity could dis- 
pose him to be pleased. The real satisfaction which 
praise can afford is by repeating aloud the whispers 
of conscience, and by shewing us that we have not 

150 


THE RAMBLER 


endeavoured to deserve well in vain. Every other 
encomium is, to an intelligent mind, satire and re- 
proach; the celebration of those virtues which we 
feel ourselves to want, can only impress a quicker 
sense of our own defects, and shew that we have 
not yet satisfied the expectations of the world, by 
forcing us to observe how much fiction must con- 
tribute to the completion of our character. 

Yet sometimes the patron may claim indulgence; 
for it does not always happen, that the encomiast has 
been much encouraged to his attempt. Many a 
hapless author, when his book, and perhaps his 
dedication, was ready for the press, has waited long 
before any one would pay the price of prostitution, 
or consent to hear the praises destined to insure his 
name against the casualties of time; and many a 
complaint has been vented against the decline of 
learning, and neglect of genius, when either parsi- 
monious prudence has declined expense, or honest 
indignation rejected falsehood. But if at last, after 
long inquiry and innumerable disappointments, he 
find a lord willing to hear of his own eloquence and 
taste, a statesman desirous of knowing how a 
friendly historian will represent his conduct, or a 
lady delighted to leave to the world some memorial 
of her wit and beauty, such weakness cannot be 
censured as an instance of enormous depravity. The 
wisest man may, by a diligent solicitor, be surprised 
in the hour of weakness, and persuaded to solace 
vexation, or invigorate hope, with the musick of 
flattery. 
| 151 





THE RAMBLER 


To censure all dedications as adulatory and ser- 
vile, would discover rather envy than justice. Praise 
is the tribute of merit, and he that has incontestably 
distinguished himself by any publick performance, 
has a right to all the honours which the publick 
ean bestow. To men thus raised above the rest of 
the community, there is no need that the book or 
its author should have any particular relation; that 
the patron is known to deserve respect, is sufficient 
to vindicate him that pays it. To the same regard 
from particular persons, private virtue and less con- 
spicuous excellence may be sometimes entitled. 
An author may with great propriety inscribe his 
work to him by whose encouragement it was un- 
dertaken, or by whose liberality he has been en- 
abled to prosecute it, and he may justly rejoice 
in his own fortitude that dares to rescue merit from 
obscurity. 


Acribus exemplis videor te claudere: misce 
Ergo aliquid nostris de moribus. 





Thus much I will indulge thee for thy ease, 
And mingle something of our times to please. 
Drynden, jun. 


I know not whether greater relaxation may not be 
indulged, and whether hope as well as gratitude 
may not unblamably produce a dedication; but let 
the writer who pours out his praises only to pro- 
pitiate power, or attract the attention of greatness, 
be cautious lest his desire betray him to exuberant 
eulogies. We are naturally more apt to please our- 
selves with the future than the past, and while we 
152 


THE RAMBLER 


luxuriate in expectation, may be easily persuaded 
to purchase what we yet rate, only by imagination, 
at a higher price than experience will warrant. 

But no private views of personal regard can dis- 
charge any man from his general obligations to 
virtue and to truth. It may happen in the various 
combinations of life, that a good man may receive 
favours from one, who, notwithstanding his acci- 
dental beneficence, cannot be justly proposed to 
the imitation of others, and whom therefore he 
must find some other way of rewarding than by 
public celebrations. Self-love has indeed many 
powers of seducement; but it surely ought not to 
exalt any individual to equality with the collective 
body of mankind, or persuade him that a benefit 
conferred on him is equivalent to every other virtue. 
Yet many, upon false principles of gratitude, have 
ventured to extol wretches, whom all but their de- 
pendents numbered among the reproaches of the 
species, and whom they would likewise have beheld 
with the same scorn, had they not been hired to 
dishonest approbation. 

To encourage merit with praise is the great busi- 
ness of literature; but praise must lose its influence, 
by unjust or negligent distribution; and he that 
impairs its value may be charged with misapplica- 
tion of the power that genius puts into his hands, 
and with squandering on guilt the recompense of 
virtue. 


158 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 137. TUESDAY, JULY 9, 1751 
Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt. 
Hor. Lib. i. Sat. ii. 24. 


——- Whilst fools one vice condemn, 
They run into the opposite extreme. CREECH. 


HAT wonder is the effect of ignorance, has 

been often observed. The awful stillness of 
attention, with which the mind is overspread at the 
first view of an unexpected effect, ceases when we 
have leisure to disentangle complications and in- 
vestigate causes. Wonder is a pause of reason, a 
sudden cessation of the mental progress, which 
lasts only while the understanding is fixed upon 
some single idea, and is at an end when it recovers 
force enough to divide the object into its parts, or 
mark the intermediate gradations from the first 
agent to the last consequence. 

It may be remarked with equal truth, that igno- 
rance is often the effect of wonder. It is common for 
those who have never accustomed themselves to 
the labour of inquiry, nor invigorated their confi- 
dence by conquests over difficulty, to sleep in the 
gloomy quiescence of astonishment, without any 
effort to animate inquiry, or dispel obscurity. What 
they cannot immediately conceive, they consider 
as too high to be reached, or too extensive to be 
comprehended; they therefore content themselves 
with the gaze of folly, forbear to attempt what they 
have no hopes of performing, and resign the pleas- 
ure of rational contemplation to more pertinacious 
study, or more active faculties. 

154 


THE RAMBLER 


Among the productions of mechanick art, many 
are of a form so different from that of their first 
materials, and many consist of parts so numerous 
and so nicely adapted to each other, that it is not 
possible to view them without amazement. But 
when we enter the shops of artificers, observe the 
various tools by which every operation is facilitated, 
and trace the progress of a manufacture through 
the different hands, that, in succession to each 
other, contribute to its perfection, we soon discover 
that every single man has an easy task, and that the 
extremes, however remote, of natural rudeness and 
artificial elegance, are joined by a regular concate- 
nation of effects, of which every one is introduced 
by that which precedes it, and equally introduces 
that which is to follow. 

The same is the state of intellectual and manual 
performances. Long calculations or complex dia- 
grams affright the timorous and unexperienced from 
a second view; but if we have skill sufficient to 
analyze them into simple principles, it will be dis- 
covered that our fear was groundless. Divide and 
conquer, is a principle equally just in science as in 
policy. Complication is a species of confederacy, 
which, while it continues united, bids defiance to 
the most active and vigorous intellect; but of which 
every member is separately weak, and which may 
therefore be quickly subdued, if it can once be broken. 

The chief art of learning, as Locke has observed, 
is to attempt but little at a time. The widest excur- 
sions of the mind are made by short flights fre- 

155 


THE RAMBLER 


quently repeated ; the most lofty fabricks of science 
are formed by the continued accumulation of single 
propositions. 

It often happens, whatever be the cause, that im- 
patience of labour, or dread of miscarriage, seizes 
those who are most distinguished for quickness of 
apprehension; and that they who might with great- 
est reason promise themselves victory, are least 
willing to hazard the encounter. This diffidence, 
where the attention is not laid asleep by laziness, 
or dissipated by pleasures, can arise only from con- 
fused and general views, such as negligence snatches 
in haste, or from the disappointment of the first 
hopes formed by arrogance without reflection. To 
expect that the intricacies of science will be pierced 
by a careless glance, or the eminences of fame as- 
cended without labour, is to expect a particular 
privilege, a power denied to the rest of mankind; 
but to suppose that the maze is inscrutable to dili- 
gence, or the heights inaccessible to perseverance, 
is to submit tamely to the tyranny of fancy, and 
enchain the mind in voluntary shackles. 

It is the proper ambition of the heroes in litera- 
ture to enlarge the boundaries of knowledge by 
discovering and conquering new regions of the in- 
tellectual world. To the success of such undertak- 
ings perhaps some degree of fortuitous happiness is 
necessary, which no man can promise or procure 
to himself; and therefore doubt and irresolution 
may be forgiven in him that ventures into the un- 
explored abysses of truth, and attempts to find his 

156 


THE RAMBLER 


way through the fluctuations of uncertainty, and 
the conflicts of contradiction. But when nothing 
more is required, than to pursue a path already 
beaten, and to trample obstacles which others have 
demolished, why should any man so much distrust 
his own intellect as to imagine himself unequal to 
the attempt? 

It were to be wished that they who devote their 
lives to study would at once believe nothing too 
great for their attainment, and consider nothing 
as too little for their regard; that they would ex- 
tend their notice alike to science and to life, and 
unite some knowledge of the present world to their 
acquaintance with past ages and remote events. 

Nothing has so much exposed men of learning to 
contempt and ridicule, as their ignorance of things 
which are known to all but themselves. Those who 
have been taught to consider the institutions of the 
schools, as giving the last perfection to human 
abilities, are surprised to see men wrinkled with 
study, yet wanting to be instructed in the minute 
circumstances of propriety, or the necessary forms 
of daily transaction; and quickly shake off their 
reverence for modes of education, which they find 
to produce no ability above the rest of mankind. 

** Books,’’ says Bacon, “‘ can never teach the use 
of books.’’ The student must learn by commerce 
with mankind to reduce his speculations to prac- 
tice, and accommodate his knowledge to the pur- 
poses of life. 

It is too common for those who have been bred 

157 


THE RAMBLER 


to scholastick professions, and passed much of their 
time in academies where nothing but learning con- 
fers honours, to disregard every other qualification, 
and to imagine that they shall find mankind ready 
to pay homage to their knowledge, and to crowd 
about them for instruction. They therefore step out 
from their cells into the open world with all the 
confidence of authority and dignity of importance; 
they look round about them at once with ignorance 
and scorn on a race of beings to whom they are 
equally unknown and equally contemptible, but 
whose manners they must imitate, and with whose 
opinions they must comply, if they desire to pass 
their time happily among them. 

To lessen that disdain with which scholars are 
inclined to look on the common business of the 
world, and the unwillingness with which they con- 
descend to learn what is not to be found in any 
system of philosophy, it may be necessary to con- 
sider that though admiration is excited by abstruse 
researches and remote discoveries, yet pleasure is not 
given, nor affection conciliated, but by softer accom- 
plishments, and qualities more easily communicable 
to those about us. He that can only converse upon 
questions, about which only a small part of mankind 
has knowledge sufficient to make them curious, 
must lose his days in unsocial silence, and live in 
the crowd of life without a companion. He that can 
only be useful on great occasions, may die without 
exerting his abilities, and stand a helpless spectator 
of a thousand vexations which fret away happiness, 

158 


THE RAMBLER 


and which nothing is required to remove but a little 
dexterity of conduct and readiness of expedients. 

No degree of knowledge attainable by man is 
able to set him above the want of hourly assistance, 
or to extinguish the desire of fond endearments, and 
tender officiousness; and therefore, no one should 
think it unnecessary to learn those arts by which 
friendship may be gained. Kindness is preserved by 
a constant reciprocation of benefits or interchange 
of pleasures; but such benefits only can be bestowed, 
as others are capable to receive, and such pleasures 
only imparted, as others are qualified to enjoy. 

By this descent from the pinnacles of art no 
honour will be lost; for the condescensions of learn- 
ing are always overpaid by gratitude. An elevated 
genius employed in little things, appears, to use the 
simile of Longinus, like the sun in his evening 
declination: he remits his splendour but retains his 
magnitude, and pleases more though he dazzles less. 


No. 138. SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1751 


O tantum libeat mecum tibt sordida rura, 
Atque humiles habitare casas, et figere cervos. 
Vire. Ee. ii. 28. 


With me retire, and leave the pomp of courts 
For humble cottages and rural sports. 


= TO THE RAMBLER. 

HOUGH the contempt with which you have 

treated the annual migrations of the gay and 

busy part of mankind is justified by daily observa- 

tion ; since most of those who leave the town, neither 
159 


THE RAMBLER 


vary their entertainments nor enlarge their notions; 
yet I suppose you do not intend to represent the 
practice itself as ridiculous, or to declare that he 
whose condition puts the distribution of his time 
into his own power may not properly divide it 
between the town and country. 

That the country, and only the country, displays 
the inexhaustible varieties of nature, and supplies the 
philosophical mind with matter for admiration and 
inquiry, never was denied; but my curiosity is very 
little attracted by the colour of a flower, the anatomy 
of an insect, or the structure of a nest; I am generally 
employed upon human manners, and therefore fill 
up the months of rural leisure with remarks on those 
who live within the circle of my notice. If writers 
would more frequently visit those regions of negli- 
gence and liberty, they might diversify their repre- 
sentations, and multiply their images, for in the 
country are original characters chiefly to be found. 
In cities, and yet more in courts, the minute dis- 
criminations which distinguish one from another are 
for the most part effaced, the peculiarities of temper 
and opinion are gradually worn away by promis- 
cuous converse, as angular bodies and uneven surfaces 
lose their points and asperities by frequent attrition 
against one another, and approach by degrees to 
uniform rotundity. The prevalence of fashion, the 
influence of example, the desire of applause, and 
the dread of censure, obstruct the natural tendencies 
of the mind, and check the fancy in its first efforts 
to break forth into experiments of caprice. 

160 


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Few inclinations are so strong as to grow up into 
habits, when they must struggle with the constant 
opposition of settled forms and established customs. 
But in the country every man is a separate and in- 
dependent being: solitude flatters irregularity with 
hopes of secrecy; and wealth, removed from the 
mortification of comparison, and the awe of equality, 
swells into contemptuous confidence, and sets blame 
and laughter at defiance; the impulses of nature act 
unrestrained, and the disposition dares to shew 
itself in its true form, without any disguise of 
hypocrisy, or decorations of elegance. Every one 
indulges the full enjoyment of his own choice, and 
talks and lives with no other view than to please 
himself, without inquiring how far he deviates from 


the general practice, or considering others as en- 





titled to any account of his sentiments or actions. 
If he builds or demolishes, opens or encloses, deluges 
or drains, it is not his care what may be the opinion 
of those who are skilled in perspective or architec- 
ture, it is sufficient that he has no landlord to con- 
troul him, and that none has any right to examine 
in what projects the lord of the manour spends his 
own money on his own grounds. 

For this reason it is not very common to want 
subjects for rural conversation. Almost every man 
is daily doing something which produces merriment, 
wonder, or resentment, among his neighbours. This 
utter exemption from restraint leaves every anom- 
alous quality to operate in its full extent, and suf- 


fers the natural character to diffuse itself to every 


Vor. 3—11 161 


THE RAMBLER 


part of life. The pride which, under the check of 
publick observation, would have been only vented 
among servants and domesticks, becomes in a coun- 
try baronet the torment of a province, and instead 
of terminating in the destruction of China-ware and 
glasses, ruins tenants, dispossesses cottagers, and 
harasses villages with actions of trespass and bills 
of indictment. 

It frequently happens that, even without violent 
passions, or enormous corruption, the freedom and 
laxity of a rustick life produces remarkable partic- 
ularities of conduct or manner. In the province 
where I now reside, we have one lady eminent for 
wearing a gown always of the same cut and colour; 
another for shaking hands with those that visit her; 
and a third for unshaken resolution never to let tea 
or coffee enter her house. 

But of all the female characters which this place 
affords, I have found none so worthy of attention 
as that of Mrs. Busy, a widow, who lost her hus- 
band in her thirtieth year, and has since passed her 
time at the manour-house in the government of 
her children, and the management of the estate. 

Mrs. Busy was married at eighteen from a board- 
ing-school, where she had passed her time like other 
young ladies, in needle-work, with a few intervals 
of dancing and reading. When she became a bride 
she spent one winter with her husband in town, 
where, having no idea of any conversation beyond 
the formalities of a visit, she found nothing to en- 
gage her passions: and when she had been one night 

162 


THE RAMBLER 


at court, and two at an opera, and seen the Monu- 
ment, the Tombs, and the Tower, she concluded 
that London had nothing more to shew, and won- 
dered that when women had once seen the world, 
they could not be content to stay at home. She 
therefore went willingly to the ancient seat, and for 
some years studied housewifery under Mr. Busy’s 
mother, with so much assiduity, that the old lady, 
when she died, bequeathed her a caudle-cup, a soup- 
dish, two beakers, and a chest of table-linen spun 
by herself. 

Mr. Busy, finding the economical qualities of his 
lady, resigned his affairs wholly into her hands, and 
devoted his life to his pointers and his hounds. He 
never visited his estates but to destroy the partridges 
or foxes; and often committed such devastations in 
the rage of pleasure, that some of his tenants re- 
fused to hold their lands at the usual rent. Their 
landlady persuaded them to be satisfied, and en- 
treated her husband to dismiss his dogs, with 
many exact calculations of the ale drunk by his com- 
panions, and corn consumed by the horses, and re- 
monstrances against the insolence of the huntsman, 
and the frauds of the groom. The huntsman was 
too necessary to his happiness to be discarded; and 
he had still continued to ravage his own estate, had 
he not caught a cold and a fever by shooting mal- 
lards in the fens. His fever was followed by a con- 
sumption, which in a few months brought him to 
the grave. 

Mrs. Busy was too much an economist to feel 
163 








THE RAMBLER 


either joy or sorrow at his death. She received the 
compliments and consolations of her neighbours in 
a dark room, out of which she stole privately every 
night and morning to see the cows milked; and after 
a few days declared that she thought a widow might 
employ herself better than in nursing grief; and 
that, for her part, she was resolved that the fortunes 
of her children should not be impaired by her 
neglect. 

She therefore immediately applied herself to the 
reformation of abuses. She gave away the dogs, dis- 
charged the servants of the kennel and stable, and 
sent the horses to the next fair, but rated at so high 
a price that they returned unsold. She was resolved 
to have nothing idle about her, and ordered them 
to be employed in common drudgery. They lost 
their sleekness and grace, and were soon purchased 
at half the value. 

She soon disencumbered herself from her weeds, 
and put on a riding-hood, a coarse apron, and short 
petticoats, and has turned a large manour into a 
farm, of which she takes the management wholly 
upon herself. She rises before the sun to order the 
horses to their gears, and sees them well rubbed 
down at their return from work; she attends the 
dairy morning and evening, and watches when a calf 
falls that it may be carefully nursed; she walks out 
among the sheep at noon, counts the lambs, and 
observes the fences, and, where she finds a gap, © 
stops it with a bush till it can be better mended. 
In harvest she rides a-field in the waggon, and is 

164 


THE RAMBLER 


very liberal of her ale from a wooden bottle. At 
her leisure hours she looks goose eggs, airs the 
wool-room, and turns the cheese. 

When respect or curiosity brings visitants to her 
house, she entertains them with prognosticks of a 
scarcity of wheat, or a rot among the sheep, and 
always thinks herself privileged to dismiss them, 
when she is to see the hogs fed, or to count her 
poultry on the roost. 

The only things neglected about her are her chil- 
dren, whom she has taught nothing but the lowest 
household duties. In my last visit I met Mrs. Busy 
carrying grains to a sick cow, and was entertained 
with the accomplishments of her eldest son, a youth 
of such early maturity, that though he is only six- 
teen, she can trust him to sell corn in the market. 
Her younger daughter, who is eminent for her 
beauty, though somewhat tanned in making hay, 
was busy in pouring out ale to the ploughmen, 
that every one might have an equal share. 

I could not but look with pity on this young 
family, doomed by the absurd prudence of their 
mother to ignorance and meanness: but when 
I recommended a more elegant education, was 
answered, that she never saw bookish or finical 
people grow rich, and that she was good for noth- 
ing herself till she had forgotten the nicety of the 


boarding-school. Iam, Yours, &c. 


Buco.Lus. 


165 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 139. TUESDAY, JULY 16, 1751 


Sit quod vis simplex duntaxat et unum. 
Hor. Ar. Poet. 23. 





Let every piece be simple and be one. 


T is required by Aristotle to the perfection of a 

tragedy, and is equally necessary to every other 
species of regular composition, that it should have 
a beginning, a middle, and an end. “‘ The begin- 
ning,’’ says he, ‘‘is that which hath nothing neces- 
sarily previous, but to which that which follows is 
naturally consequent; the end, on the contrary, 
is that which by necessity, or at least, according to 
the common course of things, succeeds something: 
else, but which implies nothing consequent to it- 
self; the middle is connected on one side to some- 
thing that naturally goes before, and on the other 
to something that naturally follows it.”’ 

Such is the rule laid down by this great critick, 
for the disposition of the different parts of a well- 
constituted fable. It must begin, where it may be 
made intelligible without introduction; and end, 
where the mind is left in repose, without expecta- 
tion of any farther event. The intermediate passages 
must join the last effect to the first cause, by a 
regular and unbroken concatention; nothing must 
be therefore inserted which does not apparently 
arise from something foregoing, and properly make 
way for something that succeeds it. 

This precept is to be understood in its rigour 
only with respect to great and essential events, and 
cannot be extended in the same force to minuter 

166 


THE RAMBLER 


circumstances and arbitrary decorations, which yet 
are more happy, as they contribute more to the main 
design; forit is always a proof of extensive thought 
and accurate circumspection, to promote various pur- 
poses by the same act; and the idea of an ornament 
admits use, though it seems to exclude necessity. 

Whoever purposes, as it is expressed by Milton, 
to build the lofty rhyme, must acquaint himself with 
this law of poetical architecture, and take care that 
his edifice be solid as well as beautiful; that nothing 
stand single or independent, so as that it may be 
taken away without injuring the rest; but that, 
from the foundation to the pinnacles, one part rest 
firm upon another. 

The regular and consequential distribution is 
among common authors frequently neglected; but 
the failures of those, whose example can have no 
influence, may be safely overlooked, nor is it of 
much use to recall obscure and unguarded names to 
memory for the sake of sporting with their infamy. 
But if there is any writer whose genius can em- 
bellish impropriety, and whose authority can make 
errour venerable, his works are the proper objects 
of critical inquisition. To expunge faults where 
there are no excellencies, is a task equally useless 
with that of the chemist, who employs the arts of 
separation and refinement upon one in which no 
precious metal is contained to reward his operations. 

The tragedy of Samson Agonistes has been cele- 
brated as the second work of the great author of 
Paradise Lost, and opposed, with all the confidence 

167 


THE RAMBLER 


of triumph, to the dramatick performances of other 
nations. It contains indeed just sentiments, maxims 
of wisdom, and oracles of piety, and many passages 
written with the ancient spirit of choral poetry, in 
which there is a just and pleasing mixture of Sen- 
eca’s moral declamation, with the wild enthusiasm 
of the Greek writers. It is therefore worthy of ex- 
amination, whether a performance thus illuminated 
with genius, and enriched with learning, is com- 
posed according to the indispensable laws of Aris- 
totelian criticism: and, omitting at present all other 
considerations, whether it exhibits a beginning, a 
middle, and an end. 

The beginning is undoubtedly beautiful and proper, 
opening with a graceful abruptness, and proceeding 
naturally to a mournful recital of facts necessary to be 


known. 


Samson. A little onward lend thy guiding hand 
To these dark steps, a little farther on; 
For yonder bank hath choice of sun and shade: 
There I am wont to sit, when any chance 
Relieves me from my task of servile toil, 
Daily in the common prison else enjoin’d me.— 
O, wherefore was my birth from Heav’n foretold 
Twice by an Angel?— 
Why was my breeding order’d and prescrib’d, 
As of a person separate to God, 
Design’d for great exploits; if I must die 
Betray’d, captiv’d, and both my eyes put out?— 
Whom have I to complain of but myself? 
Who this high gift of strength committed to me, 
In what part lodg’d, how easily bereft me, 
Under the seal of silence could not keep: 
But weakly to a woman must reveal it. 


His soliloquy is interrupted by a chorus or company 
of men of his own tribe, who condole his miseries, 
168 


THE RAMBLER 


extenuate his fault, and conclude with a solemn 
vindication of divine justice. So that at the conclu- 
sion of the first act there is no design laid, no dis- 
covery made, nor any disposition formed towards 
the consequent event. 

In the second act, Manoah, the father of Samson, 
comes to seek his son, and, being shewn him by the 
chorus, breaks out into lamentations of his misery, 
and comparisons of his present with his former state, 
representing to him the ignominy which his reli- 
gion suffers, by the festival this day celebrated in 
honour of Dagon, to whom the idolaters ascribed his 


overthrow. 
— Thou bear’st 


Enough, and more, the burthen of that fault; 
Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying 

That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains, 

This day the Philistines a popular feast 

Here celebrate in Gaza; and proclaim 

Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud 

To Dagon, as their God, who hath deliver’d 

Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands. 
Them out of thine, who slew’st them many a slain. 


Samson, touched with this reproach, makes a 
reply equally penitential and pious, which his father 
considers as the effusion of prophetick confidence: 


Samson. He, be sure, 
Will not connive, or linger, thus provok’d; 
But will arise and his great name assert: 
Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive 
_ Such a discomfit, as shall quite despoil him 
Of all these boasted trophies won on me. 
Manoah. With cause this hope relieves thee, and these 
words 
I as a prophecy receive; for God, 
Nothing more certain, will not long defer 
To vindicate the glory of his name. 





169 


THE RAMBLER 


This part of the dialogue, as it might tend to ani- 
mate or exasperate Samson, cannot, I think, be 
censured as wholly superfluous; but the succeeding 
dispute, in which Samson contends to die, and which 
his father breaks off, that he may go to solicit his 
release, is only valuable for its own beauties, and has 
no tendency to introduce any thing that follows it. 

The next event of the drama is the arrival of 
Dalila, with all her graces, artifices, and allure- 
ments. This produces a dialogue, in a very high 
degree elegant and instructive, from which she re- 
tires, after she has exhausted her persuasions, and 
is no more seen nor heard of; nor has her visit any 
effect but that of raising the character of Samson. 

In the fourth act enters Harapha, the giant of 
Gath, whose name had never been mentioned be- 
fore, and who has now no other motive of coming, 
than to see the man whose strength and actions are 
so loudly celebrated : 





Haraph. Much have I heard 
Of thy prodigious might and feats perform’d, 
Incredible to me, in this displeas’d, 
That I was never present in the place 
Of those encounters, where we might have tried 
Each other’s force in camp or listed fields; 
And now am come to see of whom such noise 
Hath walk’d about, and each limb to survey, 
If thy appearance answer loud report. 


Samson challenges him to the combat; and, after 
an interchange of reproaches, elevated by repeated 
defiance on one side, and imbittered by contemptu- 
ous insults on the other, Harapha retires; we then 


hear it determined by Samson, and the chorus, that 
170 


THE RAMBLER 


no consequence good or bad will proceed from their 


interview : 
Chorus. He will directly to the lords, I fear, 
And with malicious counsel stir them up 
Some way or other yet farther to afflict thee. 
Sams. He must allege some cause, and offer’d fight 
Will not dare mention, lest a question rise 
Whether he durst accept the offer or not; 
And, that he durst not, plain enough appear’d. 


At last, in the fifth act, appears a messenger from 
the lords assembled at the festival of Dagon, with 
a summons by which Samson is required to come 
and entertain them with some proof of his strength. 
Samson, after a short expostulation, dismisses him 
with a firm and resolute refusal; but, during the 
absence of the messenger, having a while defended 
the propriety of his conduct, he at last declares 
himself moved by a secret impulse to comply, and 
utters some dark presages of a great event to be 
brought to pass by his agency, under the direction 
of Providence: 


Sams. Be of good courage, I begin to feel 
Some rousing motions in me, which dispose 
To something extraordinary my thoughts. 

I with this messenger will go along, 
Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour 
Our Law, or stain my vow of Nazarite. 

If there be aught of presage in the mind, 
This day will be remarkable in my life 

By some great act, or of my days the last. 


While Samson is conducted off by the messenger, 
his father returns with hopes of success in his solici- 
tation, upon which he confers with the chorus till 
their dialogue is interrupted, first by a shout of 
triumph, and afterwards by screams of horrour and 

171 


THE RAMBLER 


agony. As they stand deliberating where they shall 
be secure, a man who had been present at the show 
enters, and relates how Samson, having prevailed on 
his guide to suffer him to lean against the main 
pillars of the theatrical edifice, tore down the roof 
upon the spectators and himself: 


—Those two massy pillars, 
With horrible convulsion, to and fro 
He tugg’d, he shook, till down they came, and drew 
The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder 
Upon the heads of all who sat beneath 
Samson, with these immixt, inevitably 
Pull’d down the same destruction on himself. 


This is undoubtedly a just and regular catas- 
trophe, and the poem, therefore, has a beginning 
and an end which Aristotle himself could not have 
disapproved ; but it must be allowed to want a mid- 
dle, since nothing passes between the first act and 
the last, that either hastens or delays the death of 
Samson. The whole drama, if its superfluities were 
cut off; would scarcely fill a single act; yet this is 
the tragedy which ignorance has admired, and 
bigotry applauded. 





No. 140. SATURDAY, JULY 20, 1751 


—Quis tum Lucili fautor inepte est, 
Ué non hoc fateatur? Hor. Lib. i. Sat. x. 2. 


What doating bigot, to his faults so blind, 
As not to grant me this, can Milton find? 


T is common, says Bacon, to desire the end with- 


out enduring the means. Every member of society 

feels and acknowledges the necessity of detecting 

crimes, yet scarce any degree of virtue or reputa- 
172 


THE RAMBLER 


tion is able to secure an informer from publick 
hatred. The learned world has always admitted the 
usefulness of critical disquisitions, yet he that at- 
tempts to show, however modestly, the failures of 
a celebrated writer, shall surely irritate his admirers, 
and incur the imputation of envy, captiousness, and 
malignity. 

With this danger full in my view, I shall pro- 
ceed to examine the sentiments of Milton’s tragedy, 
which, though much less liable to censure than the 
disposition of his plan, are, like those of other 
writers, sometimes exposed to just exceptions for 
want of care, or want of discernment. 

Sentiments are proper and improper as they con- 
sist more or less with the character and circum- 
stances of the person to whom they are attributed, 
with the rules of the composition in which they are 
found, or with the settled and unalterable nature 
of things. 

It is common among the tragick poets to intro- 
duce their persons alluding to events or opinions, 
of which they could not possibly have any knowl- 
edge. The barbarians of remote or newly discovered 
regions often display their skill in European learn- 
ing. The god of love is mentioned in Tamerlane 
with all the familiarity of a Roman epigrammatist ; 
and a late writer has put Harvey’s doctrine of the 
circulation of the blood into the mouth of a Turk- 
ish statesman, who lived near two centuries before 
it was known even to philosophers or anatomists. 

Milton’s learning, which acquainted him with the 

173 


THE RAMBLER 


manners of the ancient eastern nations, and his in- 
vention, which required no assistance from the 
common cant of poetry, have preserved him from 
frequent outrages of local or chronological propri- 
ety. Yet he has mentioned Chalybean steel, of 
which it is not very likely that his chorus should 
have heard, and has made Alp the general name of 
a mountain, in a region where the Alps could 
scarcely be known: 


No medicinal liquor can assuage, 
Nor breath of cooling air from snowy Alp. 


He has taught Samson the tales of Circe, and the 
Syrens, at which he apparently hints in his colloquy 
with Dalila: 





I know thy trains, 

Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils; 
Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms 
No more on me have pow’r. 


But the grossest errour of this kind is the solemn 
introduction of the Phoenix in the last scene; which 
is faulty, not only as it is incongruous to the per- 
sonage to whom it is ascribed, but as it is so 
evidently contrary to reason and nature, that it 
ought never to be mentioned but as a fable in any 


serious poem: 


—— Virtue giv’n for lost, 
Deprest, and overthrown, as seem’d, 
Like that self-begotten bird 
In the Arabian woods embost, 
That no second knows nor third, 
And lay ere while a holocaust, 
From out her ashy womb now teem’d, 
Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most 
When most unactive deem’d, 
And though her body die, her fame survives 
A secular bird, ages of lives. 


174 


THE RAMBLER. 


Another species of impropriety is the unsuitable- 
ness of thoughts to the general character of the 
poem. The seriousness and solemnity of tragedy 
necessarily reject all pointed or epigrammatical 
expressions, all remote conceits and opposition of 
ideas. Samson’s complaint is therefore too elaborate 


to be natural: 


As in the land of darkness, yet in light, 

To live a life half dead, a living death, 

And bury’d; but, O yet more miserable! 
Myself, my sepulchre, a moving grave, 
Buried, yet not exempt, 

By privilege of death and burial. 

From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs. 


All allusions to low and trivial objects, with 
which contempt is usually associated, are doubtless 
unsuitable to a species of composition which ought 
to be always awful, though not always magnificent. 
The remark therefore of the chorus on good or bad 


news seems to want elevation: 


Manoah. A little stay will bring some notice hither. 
Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner; 
For evil news rides post, while good news baits. 


But of all meanness that has least to plead which 
is produced by mere verbal conceits, which, depend- 
ing only upon sounds, lose their existence by the 
change of a syllable. Of this kind is the following 


dialogue: 

Chor. But had we best retire? I see a storm. 
Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain. 
Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings. 
Sams. Be less abstruse, my riddling days are past. 
Chor. Look now for no enchanting voice, nor fear 

The bait of honied words; a rougher tongue 

Draws hitherward; I know him by his stride, 

The giant Harapha. 





175 


THE RAMBLER 


And yet more despicable are the lines in which 
Manoah’s paternal kindness is commended by the 


chorus: 
Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons, 
Thou for thy son art bent to lay ou# all. 


Samson’s complaint of the inconveniences of im- 
prisonment is not wholly without verbal quaintness: 


——I, a prisoner chain’d, scarce freely draw 
The air, imprison’d also, close and damp. 


From the sentiments we may properly descend 
to the consideration of the language, which, in imi- 
tation of the ancients, is through the whole dialogue 
remarkably simple and unadorned, seldom height- 
ened by epithets, or varied by figures; yet some- 
times metaphors find admission, even where their 
consistency is not accurately preserved. Thus Sam- 
som confounds loquacity with a shipwreck: 

How could [ once look up, or heave the head, 
Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwreck’d 

My vessel trusted to me from above, 
Gloriously rigg’d; and for a word, a tear, 


Fool! have divulg’d the secret gift of God 
To a deceitful woman! 





And the chorus talks of adding fuel to flame in 
a report: 
He’s gone, and who knows how he may report 
Thy words, by adding fuel to the flame? 
The versification is in the dialogue much more 
smooth and harmonious, than in the parts allotted 
to the chorus, which are often so harsh and disso- 


nant, as scarce to preserve, whether the lines end 
176 


THE RAMBLER 


with or without rhymes, any appearance of metrical 
regularity : 

Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he, 

That heroic, that renown’d, 

Irresistible Samson? whom unarm’d 


No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast, could withstand; 
Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid. 


Since I have thus pointed out the faults of Mil- 
ton, critical integrity requires that I should endeav- 
our to display his excellencies, though they will not 
easily be discovered in short quotations, because 
they consist in the justness of diffuse reasonings, or 
in the contexture and method of continued dia- 
logues; this play having none of those descriptions, 
similies, or splendid sentences, with which other 
tragedies are so lavishly adorned. 

Yet some passages may be selected which seem 
to deserve particular notice, either as containing 
sentiments of passion, representations of life, pre- 
cepts of conduct, or sallies of imagination. It is not 
easy to give a stronger representation of the weari- 
ness of despondency, than in the words of Samson 
to his father: 


——I feel my genial spirits droop, 

My hopes all flat, Nature within me seems 
In all her functions weary of herself, 

My race of glory run, and race of shame, 
And I shall shortly be with them that rest. 


The reply of Samson to the flattering Dalila 
affords a just and striking description of the strata- 
gems and allurements of feminine hypocrisy: 


These are thy wonted arts, 
And arts of every woman false like thee, 
To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray, 
VoL. 3—12 177 





THE RAMBLER 


Then as repentant to submit, beseech, 

And reconcilement move with feign’d remorse, 
Confess and promise wonders in her change; 
Not truly penitent, but chief to try 

Her husband, how far urg’d his patience bears, 
His virtue or weakness which way to assail: 
Then with more cautious and instructed skill 
Again transgresses, and again submits. 


When Samson has refused to make himself a 
spectacle at the feast of Dagon, he first justifies his 
behaviour to the chorus, who charge him with hav- 
ing served the Philistines, by a very just distinc- 
tion: and then destroys the common excuse of 
cowardice and servility, which always confound 
temptation with compulsion: 


Chor. Yet with thy strength thou serv’st the Philistines. 
Sams. Not in their idol worship, but by labour 

Honest and lawful to deserve my food 

Of those, who have me in their civil power. 
Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not. 
Sams. Where outward force constrains, the sentence holds. 

But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon, 

Not dragging? The Philistine lords command. 

Commands are no constraints. If I obey them, 

I do it freely, venturing to displease 

God for the fear of Man, and Man prefer, 

Set God behind. 


The complaint of blindness which Samson pours 
out at the beginning of the tragedy is equally 
addressed to the passions and the fancy. The 
enumeration of his miseries is succeeded by a very 
pleasing train of poetical images, and concluded by 
such expostulation and wishes, as reason too often 
submits to learn from despair: 


O first created Beam, and thou great Word 
“* Let there be light, and light was over all;”’ 


178 


THE RAMBLER 


Why am I thus bereav’d thy prime decree? 
The sun to me is dark 
’ And silent as the moon, 
When she deserts the night 
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. 
Since light so necessary is to life, 
And almost life itself, if it be true 
That light is in the soul, 
She all in every part; why was the sight 
To such a tender ball as the eye confin’d, 
So obvious and so easy to be quench’d? 
And not, as feeling, through all parts diffus’d, 
That she may look at will through every pore? 


Such are the faults and such the beauties of Sam- 
son Agonistes, which I have shown with no other 
purpose than to promote the knowledge of true 
criticism. The everlasting verdure of Milton’s laurels 
has nothing to fear from the blasts of malignity; 
nor can my attempt produce any other effect, 
than to strengthen their shoots by lopping their 
luxuriance’®. 

No. 141. TUESDAY, JULY 93, 1751 


Hilarisque, tamen cum pondere, virtus. Srat. 
Greatness with ease, and gay severity. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


OLITICIANS have long observed, that the 
greatest events may be often traced back to 
slender causes. Petty competition or casual friend- 
ship, the prudence of a slave, or the garrulity of a 
woman, have hindered or promoted the most im- 
portant schemes, and hastened or retarded the 
revolutions of empire. 
Whoever shall review his life will generally find, 


© This is not the language of an accomplice in Lauder’s imposition.—Ep. 


179 


THE RAMBLER 


that the whole tenour of his conduct has been de- 
termined by some accident of no apparent moment, 
or by acombination of inconsiderable circumstances, 
acting when his imagination was unoccupied, and 
his judgment unsettled; and that his principles 
and actions have taken their colour from some 
secret infusion, mingled without design in the cur- 
rent of his ideas. The desires that predominate in 
our hearts, are instilled by imperceptible communi- 
cations at the time when we look upon the various 
scenes of the world, and the different employments 
of men, with the neutrality of inexperience; and we 
come forth from the nursery or the school, invari- 
ably destined to the pursuit of great acquisitions, 
or petty accomplishments. 

Such was the impulse by which I have been kept 
in motion from my earliest years. I was born to an 
inheritance which gave my childhood a claim to 
distinction and caresses, and was accustomed to hear 
applauses, before they had much influence on my 
thoughts. The first praise of which I remember 
myself sensible was that of good-humour, which, 
whether I deserved it or not when it was bestowed, 
I have since made it my whole business to propa- 
gate and maintain. 

When I was sent to school, the gaiety of my 
look, and the liveliness of my loquacity, soon gained 
me admission to hearts not yet forfeited against 
affection by artifice or interest. I was entrusted 
with every stratagem, and associated in every sport; 
my company gave alacrity to a frolick, and gladness 

180 


THE RAMBLER 


to a holiday. I was indeed so much employed in ad- 
justing or executing schemes of diversion, that I 
had no leisure for my tasks, but was furnished with 
exercises, and instructed in my lessons, by some 
kind patron of the higher classes. My master, not 
suspecting my deficiency, or unwilling to detect 
what his kindness would not punish nor his impar- 
tiality excuse, allowed me to escape with a slight 
examination, laughed at the pertness of my igno- 
rance, and the sprightliness of my absurdities, and 
could not forbear to show that he regarded me with 
such tenderness, as genius and learning can seldom 
excite. 

From school I was dismissed to the university, 
where I soon drew upon me notice of the younger 
students, and was the constant partner of their 
morning walks, and evening compotations. I was 
not indeed much celebrated for literature, but 
was looked on with indulgence as a man of parts, 
-who wanted nothing but the dulness of a scholar, 
and might become eminent whenever he should 
condescend to labour and attention. My tutor a 
while reproached me with negligence, and repressed 
my sallies with supercilious gravity; yet, having 
natural good-humour lurking in his heart, he could 
not long hold out against the power of hilarity, 
but after a few months began to relax the muscles 
of disciplinarian moroseness, received me with smiles 
after an elopement, and, that he might not betray 
his trust to his fondness, was content to spare my 
diligence by increasing his own. 

181 


THE RAMBLER 


Thus I continued to dissipate the gloom of col- 
legiate austerity, to waste my own life in idleness, 
and lure others from their studies, till the happy 
hour arrived, when I was sent to London. I soon 
discovered the town to be the proper element of 
youth and gaiety, and was quickly distinguished as 
a wit by the ladies, a species of beings only heard 
of at the university, whom I had no sooner the hap- 
piness of approaching than I devoted all my facul- 
ties to the ambition of pleasing them. 

A wit, Mr. Rambler, in the dialect of ladies, is 
not always a man who, by the action of a vigorous 
fancy upon comprehensive knowledge, brings dis- 
tant ideas unexpectedly together, who, by some 
peculiar acuteness, discovers resemblance in objects 
dissimilar to common eyes, or, by mixing hetero- 
geneous notions, dazzles the attention with sudden 
scintillations of conceit. A lady’s wit is a man who 
can make ladies laugh, to which, however easy it 
may seem, many gifts of nature, and attainments 
of art, must commonly concur. He that hopes to 
be received as a wit in female assemblies, should 
have a form neither so amiable as to strike with 
admiration, nor so coarse as to raise disgust, with 
an understanding too feeble to be dreaded, and too 
forcible to be despised. The other parts of the 
character are more subject to variation; it was for- 
merly essential to a wit, that half his back should 
be covered with a snowy fleece, and, at a time yet 
more remote, no man was a wit without his boots. 
In the days of the Spectator a snuff-box seems to 

182 














THE RAMBLER 


have been indispensable; but in my time an em- 
broidered coat was sufficient, without any precise 
regulation of the rest of his dress. 

But wigs and boots and snuff-boxes are vain, 
without a perpetual resolution to be merry, and 
who can always find supplies of mirth? Juvenal in- 
deed, in his comparison of the two opposite philoso- 
phers, wonders only whence an unexhausted fountain 
of tears could be discharged: but had Juvenal, with 
all his spirit, undertaken my province, he would 
have found constant gaiety equally difficult to be 
supported. Consider, Mr. Rambler, and compassion- 
ate the condition of a man, who has taught every 
company to expect from him a continual feast of 
laughter, an unintermitted stream of jocularity. The 
task of every other slave has an end. The rower in 
time reaches the port; the lexicographer at last finds 
the conclusion of his alphabet; only the hapless wit 
has his labour always to begin, the call for novelty 
is never satisfied, and one jest only raises expecta- 
tion of another. } 

I know that among men of learning and asperity 
the retainers to the female world are not much re- 
garded: yet I cannot but hope that if you knew at 
how dear a rate our honours are purchased, you 
would look with some gratulation on our success, 
and with some pity on our miscarriages. Think on 
the misery of him who is condemned to cultivate 
barrenness and ransack vacuity; who is obliged to 
continue his talk when his meaning is spent, to raise 
merriment without images, to harass his imagina- 

183 


THE RAMBLER 


tion in quest of thoughts which he cannot start, 
and his memory in pursuit of narratives which he 
cannot overtake; observe the effort with which he 
strains to conceal despondency by a smile, and the 
distress in which he sits while the eyes of the com- 
pany are fixed upon him as the last refuge from 
silence and dejection. 

It were endless to recount the shifts to which I 
have been reduced, or to enumerate the different 
species of artificial wit. I regularly frequented cof- 
fee-houses, and have often lived a week upon an 
expression, of which he who dropped it did not 
know the value. When fortune did not favour my 
erratick industry, I gleaned jests at home from ob- 
solete farces. To collect wit was indeed safe, for I 
consorted with none that looked much into books, 
but to disperse it was the difficulty. A seeming 
negligence was often useful, and I have very suc- 
cessfully made a reply not to what the lady had 
said, but to what it was convenient for me to hear; 
for very few were so perverse as to rectify a mistake 
which had given occasion to a burst of merriment. 
Sometimes I drew the conversation up by degrees 
to a proper point, and produced a conceit which I 
had treasured up, like sportsmen who boast of kill- 
ing the foxes which they lodge in the covert. Emi- 
nence is, however, in some happy moments, gained 
at less expense; I have delighted a whole circle at 
one time with a series of quibbles, and made myself 
good company at another, by scalding my fingers, 
or mistaking a lady’s lap for my own chair. 

184 


THE RAMBLER 


These are artful deceits and useful expedients; 
but expedients are at length exhausted, and deceits 
detected. Time itself, among other injuries, dimin- 
ishes the power of pleasing, and I now find, in my 
forty-fifth year, many pranks and pleasantries very 
coldly received, which had formerly filled a whole 
room with jollity and acclamation. I am under the 
melancholy necessity of supporting that character 
by study, which I gained by levity, having learned 
too late that gaiety must be recommended by 
higher qualities, and that mirth can never please 
long but as the efflorescence of a mind loved for its 
luxuriance, but esteemed for its usefulness. 

I am, &c. 
PAPILIvs. 


No. 142. SATURDAY, JULY 27, 1751 
"Ev0a © dunp eviave nehdptos 








a obd8, wet GAovg 
Huet, Gd ardvevbev eay abepiotia HON. 

Kat yap Oadby erétoxto meddptov’ obd8 exq@et 

*Avdpt ye ottogdyy. Homer. Od. I’. 187. 


A giant shepherd here his flock maintains 

Far from the rest, and solitary reigns, 

In shelter thick of horrid shade reclin’d; 

And gloomy mischiefs labour in the mind. 

A form enormous! far unlike the race 

Of human birth, in stature or in face. Pore. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


AVING been accustomed to retire annually 

from the town, I lately accepted the invitation 

of Eugenio, who has an estate and seat in a distant 

county. As we were unwilling to travel without 
185 


THE RAMBLER 


improvement, we turned often from the direct road 
to please ourselves with the view of nature or of art; 
we examined every wild mountain and medicinal 
spring, criticised every edifice, contemplated every 
ruin, and compared every scene of action with the 
narratives of historians. By this succession of amuse- 
ments we enjoyed the exercise of a journey without 
suffering the fatigue, and had nothing to regret but 
that, by a progress so leisurely and gentle, we missed 
the adventures of a post-chaise, and the pleasure of 
alarming villages with the tumult of our passage, 
and of disguising our insignificancy by the dignity 
of hurry. 

The first week after our arrival at EKugenio’s 
house was passed in receiving visits from his neigh- 
bours, who crowded about him with all the eager- 
ness of benevolence; some impatient to learn the 
news of the court and town, that they might be 
qualified by authentick information to dictate to 
the rural politicians on the next bowling day; others 
desirous of his interest to accommodate disputes, or 
his advice in the settlement of their fortunes and 
the marriage of their children. 

The civilities which he had received were soon to 
be returned; and I passed sometime with great sat- 
isfaction in roving through the country, and viewing 
the seats, gardens, and plantations, which are scat- 
tered over it. My pleasure would indeed have been 
greater had I been sometimes allowed to wander in 
a park or wilderness alone; but to appear as a friend 
of Eugenio was an honour not to be enjoyed with- 

186 


THE RAMBLER 


out some inconveniences: so much was every one 
solicitous for my regard, that I could seldom escape 
to solitude, or steal a moment from the emulation 
of complaisance, and the vigilance of officiousness. 

In these rambles of good neighbourhood, we fre- 
quently passed by a house of unusual magnificence. 
While I had my curiosity yet distracted among 
many novelties, it did not much attract my obser- 
vation; but in a short time I could not forbear 
surveying it with particular notice; for the length 
of the wall which inclosed the gardens, the disposi- 
tion of the shades that waved over it, and the canals 
of which I could obtain some glimpses through the 
trees from our own windows, gave me reason to 
expect more grandeur and beauty than I had yet 
seen in that province. I therefore inquired, as we 
rode by it, why we never, amongst our excursions, 
spent an hour where there was such an appearance 
of splendour and affluence? Eugenio told me that 
the seat which I so much admired, was commonly 
called in the country the haunted house, and that no 
visits were paid there by any of the gentlemen 
whom I had yet seen. As the haunts of incorporeal 
beings are generally ruinous, neglected, and deso- 
late, I easily conceived that there was something to 
be explained, and told him that I supposed it only 
fairy ground, on which we might venture by day- 
light without danger. The danger, says he, is indeed 
only that of appearing to solicit the acquaintance 
of a man, with whom it is not possible to converse 
without infamy, and who has driven from him, by 

187 


THE RAMBLER 


his insolence or malignity, every human being who 
can live without him. 

Our conversation was then accidentally inter- 
rupted; but my inquisitive humour being now in 
motion, could not rest without a full account of this 
newly discovered prodigy. I was soon informed that 
the fine house and spacious gardens were haunted 
by squire Bluster, of whom it was very easy to learn 
the character, since nobody had regard for him suffi- 
cient to hinder them from telling whatever they 
could discover. 

Squire Bluster is descended of an ancient family. 
The estate which his ancestors had immemorially 
possessed was much augmented by captain Blus- 
ter, who served under Drake in the reign of Eliza- 
beth; and the Blusters, who were before only petty 
gentlemen, have from that time frequently repre- 
sented the shire in parliament, been chosen to pre- 
sent addresses, and given laws at hunting-matches 
and races. They were eminently hospitable and 
popular, till the father of this gentleman died of an 
election. His lady went to the grave soon after him, 
and left the heir, then only ten years old, to the care 
of his grandmother, who would not suffer him to be 
controlled, because she could not bear to hear him 
cry; and never sent him to school, because she was 
not able to live without his company. She taught 
him however very early to inspect the steward’s 
accounts, to dog the butler from the cellar, and to 
catch the servants at a junket; so that he was at the 
age of eighteen a complete master of all the lower 

188 


THE RAMBLER 


arts of domestick policy, had often on the road 
detected combinations between the coachman and 
the ostler, and procured the discharge of nineteen 
maids for illicit correspondence with cottagers and 
charwomen. 

By the opportunities of parsimony which minor- 
ity affords, and which the probity of his guardians 

had diligently improved, a very large sum of money 
was accumulated, and he found himself, when he 
took his affairs into his own hands, the richest man 
in the county. It has been long the custom of this 
family to celebrate the heir’s completion of his 
twenty-first year, by an entertainment, at which 
the house is thrown open to all that are inclined to 
enter it, and the whole province flocks together as 
to a general festivity. On this occasion young Blus- 
ter exhibited the first tokens of his future eminence, 
by shaking his purse at an old gentleman who had 
been the intimate of his father, and offering to 
wager a greater sum than he could afford to ven- 
ture; a practice with which he has, at one time or 
other, insulted every freeholder within ten miles 
round him. 

His next acts of offence were committed in a 
contentious and spiteful vindication of the privi- 
leges of his manours, and a rigorous and relentless 
prosecution of every man that presumed to violate 
his game. As he happens to have no estate adjoin- 
ing equal to his own, his oppressions are often borne 
without resistance, for fear of a long suit, of which 
he delights to count the expenses without the least 

189 


THE RAMBLER 


solicitude about the event; for he knows, that where 
nothing but an honorary right is contested, the poorer 
antagonist must always suffer, whatever shall be the 
last decision of the law. 

By the success of some of these disputes, he has 
so elated his insolence, and, by reflection upon the 
general hatred which they have brought upon him, 
so irritated his virulence, that his whole life is spent 
in meditating or executing mischief. It is his com- 
mon practice to procure his hedges to be broken in 
the night, and then to demand satisfaction for dam- 
ages which his grounds have suffered from his neigh- 
bour’s cattle. An old widow was yesterday soliciting 
Eugenio to enable her to replevin her only cow, 
then in the pound by squire Bluster’s order, who 
had sent one of his agents to take advantage of her 
calamity, and persuade her to sell the cow at an 
under rate. He has driven a day-labourer from his 
cottage, for gathering blackberries in a hedge for 
his children, and has now an old woman in the coun- 
try-gaol for a trespass which she committed, by 
coming into his ground to pick up acorns for 
her hog. 

Money, in whatever hands, will confer power. 
Distress will fly to immediate refuge, without much 
consideration of remote consequences. Bluster has 
therefore a despotick authority in many families, 
whom he has assisted, on pressing occasions, with 
larger sums than they can easily repay. The only 
visits that he makes are to these houses of misfor- 
tune, where he enters with the insolence of absolute 

190 


THE RAMBLER 


command, enjoys the terrours of the family, exacts 
their obedience, riots at their charge, and in the 
height of his joy insults the father with menaces, 
and the daughters with obscenity. 

He is of late somewhat less offensive; for one of 
his debtors, after gentle expostulations, by which he 
was only irritated to grosser outrage, seized him by 
the sleeve, led him trembling into the court-yard, 
and closed the door upon him in a stormy night. 
He took his usual revenge next morning by a writ; 
but the debt was discharged by the assistance of 
Eugenio. 

It is his rule to suffer tenants to owe him rent, 
because by this indulgence he secures to himself 
the power of seizure whenever he has an inclination 
to amuse himself with calamity, and feast his ears 
with entreaties and lamentations. Yet as he is some- 
times capriciously liberal to those whom he happens 
to adopt as favourites, and lets his lands at a cheap 
rate, his farms are never long unoccupied; and 
when one is ruined by oppression, the possibility 
of better fortune quickly lures another to supply 
his place. 

Such is the life of squire Bluster; a man in whose 
power fortune has liberally placed the means of 
happiness, but who has defeated all her gifts of 
their end by the depravity of his mind. He is 
wealthy without followers; he is magnificent with- 
out witnesses; he has birth without alliance, and 
influence without dignity. His neighbours scorn 
him as a brute; his dependants dread him as an 

191 


THE RAMBLER 


oppressor; and he has only the gloomy comfort of 
reflecting, that if he is hated, he is likewise feared. 
I am, Sir, &c. 
VAGULUS. 
No. 143. TUESDAY, JULY 30, 1751 


— Moveat cornicula risum 
Furtivis nudata coloribus. 





Hor. Lib. i. Ep. i. 19. 


Lest when the birds their various colours claim, 
Stripp’d of his stolen pride, the crow forlorn 
Should stand the laughter of the publick scorn. Francis. 


MONG the innumerable practices by which 

interest or envy have taught those who live 
upon literary fame to disturb each other at their 
airy banquets, one of the most common is the 
charge of plagiarism. When the excellence of a new 
composition can no longer be contested, and malice 
is compelled to give way to the unanimity of ap- 
plause, there is yet this one expedient to be tried, 
by which the author may be degraded, though his 
work be reverenced; and the excellence which he 
cannot obscure, may be set at such a distance as 
not to overpower our fainter lustre. 

This accusation is dangerous, because, even when 
it is false, it may be sometimes urged with proba- 
bility. Bruyere declares, that we are come into the 
world too late to produce any thing new, that 
nature and life are pre-occupied, and that descrip- 
tion and sentiment have been long exhausted. It 
is indeed certain, that whoever attempts any com- 
mon topick, will find unexpected coincidences of 

192 


THE RAMBLER 


his thoughts with those of other writers; nor can 
the nicest judgment always distinguish accidental 
similitude from artful imitation. There is likewise a 
common stock of images, a settled mode of arrange- 
ment, and a beaten track of transition, which all 
authors suppose themselves at liberty to use, and 
which produce the resemblance generally observ- 
able among contemporaries. So that in books which 
best deserve the name of originals, there is little 
new beyond the disposition of materials already 
provided ; the same ideas and combinations of ideas 
have been long in the possession of other hands; 
and, by restoring to every man his own, as the 
Romans must have returned to their cots from the 
possession of the world, so the most inventive and 
fertile genius would reduce his folios to a few pages. 
Yet the author who imitates his predecessors only 
by furnishing himself with thoughts and elegancies 
out of the same general magazine of literature, can 
with little more propriety be reproached as a plagi- 
ary, than the architect can be censured as a mean 
copier of Angelo or Wren, because he digs his mar- 
ble from the same quarry, squares his stones by the 
same art, and unites them in the columns of the 
same orders. 

Many subjects fall under the consideration of an 
author, which, being limited by nature, can admit 
only of slight and accidental diversities. All defini- 
tions of the same thing must be nearly the same; 
and descriptions, which are definitions of a more lax 


and fanciful kind, must always have in some degree 
Vou. 3—13 193 


THE RAMBLER 


that resemblance to each other which they all have 
to their object. Different poets describing the spring 
or the sea would mention the zephyrs and the flow- 
ers, the billows and the rocks; reflecting on human 
life, they would, without any communication of 
opinions, lament the deceitfulness of hope, the 
fugacity of pleasure, the fragility of beauty, and 
the frequency of calamity; and for palliatives of 
these incurable miseries, they would concur in rec- 
ommending kindness, temperance, caution, and 
fortitude. 

When therefore there are found in Virgil and 
Horace two similar passages — 


He tibi erunt artes 





Parcere subjectis, et debellare swperbos. Vine. 


To tame the proud, the fetter’d slave to free: 
These are imperial arts, and worthy thee. Dryvden, 


Imperet bellante prior, jacentem 
Lents in hostem. Hor. 


Let Cesar spread his conquests far, 
Less pleas’d to triumph than to spare— 


it is surely not necessary to suppose with a late 
ceritick, that one is copied from the other, since 
neither Virgil nor Horace can be supposed ignorant 
of the common duties of humanity, and the virtue 
of moderation in success. 

Cicero and Ovid have on very different occasions 
remarked how little of the honour of a victory be- 
longs to the general, when his soldiers and his for- 
tune have made their deductions; yet why should 
Ovid be suspected to have owed to Tully an obser- 

194 


THE RAMBLER 


vation which perhaps occurs to every man that sees 
or hears of military glories ? 

Tully observes of Achilles, that had not Homer 
written, his valour had been without praise: 


Nisi Ilias lla extitisset, idem tumulus qui corpus ejus contexerat, nomen 
ejus obruisset. 


Unless the Iliad had been published, his name had been lost in the 
tomb that covered his body. 
Horace tells us with more energy that there were 
brave men before the wars of Troy, but they were 
lost in oblivion for want of a poet: 


Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona 
Multi; sed omnes illachrymabiles 
Urgentur, ignotique longa 
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro. 


Before great Agamemnon reign’d, 
Reigned kings as great as he, and brave, 
Whose huge ambition’s now contain’d 
In the small compass of a grave: 
In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown: 
No bard had they to make all time their own. Francis. 


Tully inquires, in the same oration, why, but for 
fame, we disturb a short life with so many fatigues? 


Quid est quod in hoc tum exiguo vite curriculo et tam brevi, tantis nos 
in laboribus exerceamus? 


Why in so small a circuit of life should we employ ourselves in so 
many fatigues? 
Horace inquires in the same manner, 


Quid brevi fortes gaculamur evo 
Multa? 


Why do we aim, with eager strife, 
At things beyond the mark of life? FRaNcis. 


when our life is of so short duration, why we form 
195 


THE RAMBLER 


such numerous designs? But Horace, as well as 
Tully, might discover that records are needful to 
preserve the memory of actions, and that no records 
were so durable as poems; either of them might 
find out that life is short, and that we consume it 
in unnecessary labour. 

There are other flowers of fiction so widely scat- 
tered and so easily cropped, that it is scarcely just 
to tax the use of them as an act by which any par- 
ticular writer is despoiled of his garland; for they 
may be said to have been planted by the ancients 
in the open road of poetry for the accommodation 
of their successors, and to be the right of every one 
that has art to pluck them without injuring their 
colours or their fragrance. The passage of Orpheus 
to hell, with the recovery and second loss of 
Eurydice, have been described after Boetius by 
Pope, in such a manner as might justly leave him 
suspected of imitation, were not the images such 
as they might both have derived from more ancient 


writers. 
Que sontes agitant metu 
Ultrices scelerum dew 
Jam meste lacrymis madent, 
Non Ixionium caput 
Velox precipitat rota. 


The pow’rs of vengeance, while they hear, 

Touch’d with compassion, drop a tear: 

Ixion’s rapid wheel is bound, 

Fix’d in attention to the sound. F. Lewis. 


Thy stone, O Sysiphus, stands still, 
Ixion rests upon the wheel, 
And the pale spectres dance! 
The furies sink upon their iron beds. Porr. 


196 


THE RAMBLER 


Tandem, vincimur, arbiter 
Umbrarum, miserans, ait—— 
Donemus, comitem viro, 
Emtam carmine, conjugem. 


Subdu’d at length, Hell’s pitying monarch cry’d, 
The song rewarding, let us yield the bride. ¥. Lewis. 


He sung; and hell consented 
To hear the poet’s prayer; 
Stern Proserpine relented, 
And gave him back the fair. Pops. 


Heu, noctis prope terminos 
Orpheus Eurydicen suam 
Vidit, perdidit, occidit. 


Nor yet the golden verge of day begun, 
When Orpheus, her unhappy lord, 
Eurydice to life restor’d, 
At once beheld, and lost, and was undone. F. Lewis. 


But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes: 
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies! Pore. 


No writer can be fully convicted of imitation, 
except there is a concurrence of more resemblance 
than can be imagined to have happened by chance; 
as where the same ideas are conjoined without any 
natural series or necessary coherence, or where not 
only the thought but the words are copied. Thus 
it can scarcely be doubted, that in the first of the 
following passages Pope remembered Ovid, and 
that in the second he copied Crashaw: 

Sepe pater diwit, studium quid inutile tentas? 
Meon des nullas ipse reliquit opes —— 


Sponte sua carmen numeros veniebat ad aptos, 
Ht quod conabar scribere, versus erat. Ovip. 


Quit, quit this barren trade, my father cry’d: 

Ev’n Homer left no riches when he dy’d— 

In verse spontaneous flow’d my native strain, 

Fore’d by no sweat or labour of the brain. F. Lewis. 


197 


THE RAMBLER 


I left no calling for this idle trade; 

No duty broke, no father disobey’d; 

While yet a child, ere yet a fool to fame, 

I lisp’d in numbers, for the numbers came. Pore. 


-——This plain floor, 
Believe me, reader, can say more 
Than many a braver marble can, 
Here lies a truly honest man. CrasHAw. 


This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, 
May truly say, Here lies an honest man. Pope. 


Conceits, or thoughts not immediately impressed 
by sensible objects, or necessarily arising from the 
coalition or comparison of common sentiments, 
may be with great justice suspected whenever they 
are found a second time. Thus Waller probably 
owed to Grotius an elegant compliment: 


Here lies the learned Savil’s heir, 

So early wise, and lasting fair, 

That none, except her years they told, 

Thought her a child, or thought her old. WALLER. 


Unica lux secli, genitoris gloria, nemo 
Quem puerum, nemo credidit esse senem. Gror. 


The age’s miracle, his father’s joy! 
Nor old you would pronounce him, nora boy. F. Lrewts. 
And Prior was indebted for a pretty illustration 
to Alleyne’s poetical history of Henry the Seventh: 


For nought but light itself, itself can shew, 
And only kings can write, what kings can do. ALLEYNE. 


Your musick’s pow’r your musick must disclose, 
For what light is, *tis only light that shews. Prior. 
And with yet more certainty may the same 
writer be censured, for endeavouring the clandes- 
tine appropriation of a thought which he borrowed, 
198 


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surely without thinking himself disgraced, from an 
epigram of Plato: 
Ty Hagin t0 xdtontpov, exee tutn pev 0pacbac 
06x 20chw, oi'n © fy xdpos, od dbvapac. 
Venus, take my votive glass, 
Since I am not what I was ; 


What from this day I shall be, 
Venus, let me never see. 


As not every instance of similitude can be con- 
sidered as a proof of imitation, so not every imita- 
tion ought to be stigmatized as plagiarism. The 
adoption of a noble sentiment, or the insertion of a 
borrowed ornament, may sometimes display so 
much judgment as will almost compensate for in- 
vention: and an inferior genius may, without any 
imputation of servility, pursue the path of the 
ancients, provided he declines to tread in their 
footsteps. 


No. 144. SATURDAY, AUGUST 3, 1751 





Daphnidis arcum 

Fregisti et calamos: que tu, perverse Menalca, 

Ht quum vidisti puero donata, dolebas; 

Et si non aliqua nocuisses, mortuus esses. Vira. Ee. iii. 12. 


The bow of Daphnis and the shafts you broke; 
When the fair boy receiv’d the gift of right; 
And but for mischief, you had dy’d for spite. Drynpen. 


T is impossible to mingle in conversation without 

observing the difficulty with which a new name 

makes its way into the world. The first appearance 

of excellence unites multitudes against it; unex- 

pected opposition rises up on every side; the 
199 


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celebrated and the obscure join in the confederacy ; 
subtlety furnishes arms to impudence, and inven- 
tion leads on credulity. 

The strength and unanimity of this alliance is 
not easily conceived. It might be expected that no 
man should suffer his heart to be inflamed with 
malice, but by injuries; that none should busy him- 
self in contesting the pretensions of another, but 
when some right of his own was involved in the 
question; that at least hostilities, commenced with- 
out cause, should quickly cease; that the armies of 
malignity should soon disperse, when no common 
interest could be found to hold them together; and 
that the attack upon a rising character should be 
left to those who had something to hope or fear 
from the event. 

The hazards of those that aspire to eminence, 
would be much diminished if they had none but 
acknowledged rivals to encounter. Their enemies 
would then be few, and, what is yet of greater im- 
portance, would be known. But what caution is 
sufficient to ward off the blows of invisible assail- 
ants, or what force can stand against uninterrupted 
attacks, and a continual succession of enemies ? Yet 
such is the state of the world, that no sooner can 
any man emerge from the crowd, and fix the eyes 
of the publick upon him, than he stands as a mark 
to the arrows of lurking calumny, and receives in 
the tumult of hostility, from distant and from 
nameless hands, wounds not always easy to be 
cured. 

200 


THE RAMBLER 


It is probable that the onset against the candi- 
dates for renown, is originally incited by those who 
imagine themselves in danger of suffering by their 
success; but, when war is once declared, volunteers 
flock to the standard, multitudes follow the camp 
only for want of employment, and flying squadrons 
are dispersed to every part, so pleased with an op- 
portunity of mischief, that they toil without pros- 
pect of praise, and pillage without hope of profit. 

When any man has endeavoured to deserve dis- 
tinction, he will be surprised to hear himself cen- 
sured where he could not expect to have been 
named ; he will find the utmost acrimony of malice 
among those whom he never could have offended. 

As there are to be found in the service of envy 
men of every diversity of temper and degree of 
understanding, calumny is diffused by all arts and 
methods of propagation. Nothing is too gross or 
too refined, too cruel or too trifling, to be prac- 
tised; very little regard is had to the rules of hon- 
ourable hostility, but every weapon is accounted 
lawful, and those that cannot make a thrust at life 
are content to keep themselves in play with petty 
malevolence, to tease with feeble blows and im- 
potent disturbance. 

But as the industry of observation has divided 
the most miscellaneous and confused assemblages 
into proper classes, and ranged the insects of the 
summer, that torment us with their drones or 
stings, by their several tribes; the persecutors of 
merit, notwithstanding their numbers, may be like- 

201 


THE RAMBLER 


wise commodiously distinguished into Roarers, 
Whisperers, and Moderators. 

* The Roarer is an enemy rather terrible than 
dangerous. He has no other qualification for a 
champion of controversy than a hardened front 
and strong voice. Having seldom so much desire 
to confute as to silence, he depends rather upon 
vociferation than argument, and has very little care 
to adjust one part of his accusation to another, to 
preserve decency in his language, or probability in 
his narratives. He has always a store of reproachful 
epithets and contemptuous appellations, ready to 
be produced as occasion may require, which by 
constant use he pours out with resistless volubility. 
If the wealth of a trader is mentioned, he without 
hesitation devotes him to bankruptcy; if the 
beauty and elegance of a lady be commended, he 
wonders how the town can fall in love with rustick 
deformity; if a new performance of genius hap- 
pens to be celebrated, he pronounces the writer a 
hopeless idiot, without knowledge of books or life, 
and without the understanding by which it must 
be acquired. His exaggerations are generally with- 
out effect upon those whom he compels to hear 
them; and though it will sometimes happen that 
the timorous are awed by his violence, and the 
credulous mistake his confidence for knowledge, 
yet the opinions which he endeavours to suppress 
soon recover their former strength, as the trees 
that bend to the tempest erect themselves again 
when its force is past. 

202 


THE RAMBLER 


The. Whisperer is more dangerous. He easily 
gains attention by a soft address, and excites curi- 
osity by an air of importance. As secrets are not 
to be made cheap by promiscuous publication, he 
calls a select audience about him, and gratifies their 
vanity with an appearance of trust by communi- 
cating his intelligence in a low voice. Of the trader 
he can tell that, though he seems to manage an ex- 
tensive commerce, and talks in high terms of the 
funds, yet his wealth is not equal to his reputation; 
he has lately suffered much by an expensive pro- 
ject, and had a greater share than is acknowledged 
in the rich ship that perished by the storm. Of the 
beauty he has little to say, but that they who see 
her in a morning do not discover all those graces 
which are admired in the Park. Of the writer he 
affirms with great certainty, that though the ex- 
cellence of the work be incontestible, he can claim 
but a small part of the reputation; that he owed 
most of the images and sentiments to a secret 
friend; and that the accuracy and equality of the 
style was produced by the successive correction of 
the chief criticks of the age. 

As every one is pleased with imagining that he 
knows something not yet commonly divulged, 
secret history easily gains credit; but it is for the 
most part believed only while it circulates in whis- 
pers; and when once it is openly told, is openly 
confuted. 

The most pernicious enemy is the man of Mod- 
eration. Without interest in the question, or any 

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THE RAMBLER 


motive but honest curiosity, this impartial and 
zealous inquirer after truth is ready to hear either 
side, and always disposed to kind interpretations 
and favourable opinions. He hath heard the trader’s 
affairs reported with great variation, and, after a 
diligent comparison of the evidence, concludes it 
probable that the splendid superstructure of busi- 
ness being originally built upon a narrow basis, has 
lately been found to totter; but between dilatory 
payment and bankruptcy there is a great distance; 
many merchants have supported themselves by ex- 
pedients for a time, without any final injury to their 
creditors; and what is lost by one adventure may 
be recovered by another. He believes that a young 
lady pleased with admiration, and desirous to make 
perfect what is already excellent, may heighten her 
charms by artificial improvements, but surely most 
of her beauties must be genuine, and who can say 
that he is wholly what he endeavours to appear ? 
The author he knows to be a man of diligence, 
who perhaps does not sparkle with the fire of 
Homer, but has the judgment to discover his own 
deficiencies, and to supply them by the help of 
others; and, in his opinion, modesty is a quality so 
amiable and rare, that it ought to find a patron 
wherever it appears, and may justly be preferred by 
the publick suffrage to petulant wit and ostenta- 
tious literature. 

He who thus discovers failings with unwilling- 
ness, and extenuates the faults which cannot be 
denied, puts an end at once to doubt or vindica- 

204 


THE RAMBLER 


tion; his hearers repose upon his candour and verac- 
ity, and admit the charge without allowing the 
excuse. 

Such are the arts by which the envious, the idle, 
the peevish, and the thoughtless, obstruct that 
worth which they cannot equal, and, by artifices 
thus easy, sordid, and detestable, is industry de- 
feated, beauty blasted, and genius depressed. 


No. 145. TUESDAY, AUGUST 6, 1751 


Non, st priores Meonius tenet 
Sedes Homerus, Pindarice latent, 
Coceque, et Alcai minaces, 
Stesichorique graves Camene. 
Hor. Lib. iv. Od. ix. 5. 


What though the muse her Homer thrones 
High above all the immortal quire; 
Nor Pindar’s raptures she disowns, 
Nor hides the plaintive Czan lyre; 
Alceeus strikes the tyrant soul with dread, 
Nor yet is grave Stesichorus unread. Francis. 


T is allowed that vocations and employments of 

least dignity are of the most apparent use; that 
the meanest artizan or manufacturer contributes 
more to the accommodation of life, than the pro- 
found scholar and argumentative theorist ; and that 
the publick would suffer less present inconvenience 
from the banishment of philosophers than from the 
extinction of any common trade. 

Some have been so forcibly struck with this ob- 
servation, that they have, in the first warmth of their 
discovery, thought it reasonable to alter the com- 

205 


THE RAMBLER 


mon distribution of dignity, and ventured to con- 
demn mankind of universal ingratitude. For justice 
exacts, that those by whom we are most benefited 
should be most honoured. And what labour can be 
more useful than that which procures to families 
and communities those necessaries which supply the 
wants of nature, or those conveniences by which 
ease, security, and elegance, are conferred. 

This is one of the innumerable theories which the 
first attempt to reduce them into practice certainly 
destroys. If we estimate dignity by immediate use- 
fulness, agriculture is undoubtedly the first and 
noblest science; yet we see the plough driven, the 
clod broken, the manure spread, the seeds scattered, 
and the harvest reaped, by men whom those that 
feed upon their industry will never be persuaded 
to admit into the same rank with heroes, or with 
sages; and who, after all the confessions which truth 
may extort in favour of their occupation, must be 
content to fill up the lowest class of the common- 
wealth, to form the base of the pyramid of subor- 
dination, and lie buried in obscurity themselves, 
while they support all that is splendid, conspicuous, 
or exalted. 

It will be found upon a closer inspection, that 
this part of the conduct of mankind is by no means 
contrary to reason or equity. Remuneratory honours 
are proportioned at once to the usefulness and diffi- 
culty of performances, and are properly adjusted by 
comparison of the mental and corporeal abilities, 
which they appear to employ. That work, however 

206 


THE RAMBLER 


necessary, which is carried on only by muscular 
strength and manual dexterity, is not of equal 
esteem, in the consideration of rational beings, with 
the tasks that exercise the intellectual powers, and 
require the active vigour of imagination or the 
gradual and laborious investigations of reason. 

The merit of all manual occupations seems to 
terminate in the inventor; and surely the first ages 
cannot be charged with ingratitude; since those 
who civilized barbarians, and taught them how to 
secure themselves from cold and hunger, were num- 
bered amongst their deities. But these arts once 
discovered by philosophy, and facilitated by experi- 
ence, are afterwards practised with very little assist- 
ance from the faculties of the soul; nor is any thing 
necessary to the regular discharge of these inferior 
duties, beyond that rude observation which the 
most sluggish intellect may practise, and that in- 
dustry which the stimulations of necessity naturally 
enforce. 

Yet though the refusal of statues and panegyrick 
to those who employ only their hands and feet in 
the service of mankind may be easily justified, [ 
am far from intending to incite the petulance of 
pride, to justify the superciliousness of grandeur, 
or to intercept any part of that tenderness and be- 
nevolence which, by the privilege of their common 
nature, one may claim from another. 

That it would be neither wise nor equitable to 
discourage the husbandman, the labourer, the miner, 
or the smith, is generally granted; but there is an- 

207 


THE RAMBLER 


other race of beings equally obscure and equally 
indigent, who, because their usefulness is less 
obvious to vulgar apprehensions, live unrewarded 
and die unpitied, and who have been long exposed 
to insult without a defender, and to censure without 
an apologist. 

The authors of London were formerly computed 
by Swift at several thousands, and there is not any 
reason for suspecting that their number has de- 
creased. Of these only a very few can be said to 
produce, or endeavour to produce, new ideas, to 
extend any principle of science, or gratify the im- 
agination with any uncommon train of images or 
contexture of events; the rest, however laborious, 
however arrogant, can only be considered as the 
drudges of the pen, the manufacturers of literature, 
who have set up for authors, either with or without 
a regular initiation, and, like other artificers, have 
no other care than to deliver their tale of wares at 
the stated time. 

It has been formerly imagined, that he who in- 
tends the entertainment or instruction of others, 
must feel in himself some peculiar impulse of 
genius; that he must watch the happy minute in 
which his natural fire is excited, in which his mind 
is elevated with nobler sentiments, enlightened with 
clearer views, and invigorated with stronger compre- 
hension; that he must carefully select his thoughts 
and polish his expressions; and animate his efforts 
with the hope of raising a monument of learning, 
which neither time nor envy shall be able to destroy. 

208 


THE RAMBLER 


But the authors whom I am now endeavouring 
to recommend have been too long hackneyed in the 
ways of men to indulge the chimerical ambition of 
immortality: they have seldom any claim to the 
trade of writing, but that they have tried some 
other without success; they perceive no particular 
summons to composition, except the sound of the 
clock; they have no other rule than the law or the 
fashion for admitting their thoughts or rejecting 
them; and about the opinion of posterity they have 
little solicitude, for their productions are seldom 
intended to remain in the world longer than a 
week. 

That such authors are not to be rewarded with 
praise is evident, since nothing can be admired 
when it ceases to exist; but surely, though they 
cannot aspire to honour, they may be exempted 
from ignominy, and adopted in that order of men 
which deserves our kindness, though not our rever- 
ence. These papers of the day, the Hphemere of 
learning, have uses more adequate to the purposes 
of common life than more pompous and durable 
volumes. If it is necessary for every man to be more 
acquainted with his contemporaries than with past 
generations, and to rather know the events which 
may immediately affect his fortune or quiet, than 
the revolutions of ancient kingdoms, in which he 
has neither possessions nor expectations; if it be 
pleasing to hear of the preferment and dismission 
of statesmen, the birth of heirs, and the marriage 


of beauties, the humble author of journals and ga- 
Vou. 3—14 209 


THE RAMBLER 


zettes must be considered as a liberal dispenser of 
beneficial knowledge. 

Even the abridger, compiler, and_ translator, 
though their labours cannot be ranked with those 
of the diurnal historiographer, yet must not be 
rashly doomed to annihilation. Every size of read- 
ers requires a genius of correspondent capacity; 
some delight in abstracts and epitomes, because they 
want room in their memory for long details, and 
content themselves with effects, without inquiry 
after causes; some minds are overpowered by splen- 
dour of sentiment, as some eyes are offended by a 
glaring light; such will gladly contemplate an 
author in an humble imitation, as we look without 
pain upon the sun in the water. 

As every writer has his use, every writer ought 
to have his patrons; and since no man, however high 
he may now stand, can be certain that he shall not 
be soon thrown down from his elevation by criti- 
cism or caprice, the common interest of learning 
requires that her sons should cease from intestine 
hostilities, and, instead of sacrificing each other to 
malice and contempt, endeavour to avert persecu- 
tion from the meanest of their fraternity. 


210 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 146. SATURDAY, AUGUST 10, 1751 


Sunt illic duo, tresve, qui revolvant 

Nostrarum tineas ineptiarum; 

Sed cum sponsio, fabuleque lasse 

De scorpo fuerint incitato. Marr. 


Tis possible that one or two 

These fooleries of mine may view; 

But then the bettings must be o’er, 

Nor Crab or Childers talk’d of more. F. Lewis. 


ONE of the projects or designs which exercise 

the mind of man are equally subject to obstruc- 
tions and disappointments with pursuit of fame. 
Riches cannot easily be denied to them who have 
something of greater value to offer in exchange; 
he whose fortune is endangered by litigation, will 
not refuse to augment the wealth of the lawyer; he 
whose days are darkened by languor, or whose 
nerves are excruciated by pain, is compelled to pay 
tribute to the science of healing. But praise may be 
always omitted without inconvenience. When once 
a man has made celebrity necessary to his happi- 
ness, he has put it in the power of the weakest and 
most timorous malignity, if not to take away his 
satisfaction, at least to withhold it. His enemies 
may indulge their pride by airy negligence, and 
gratify their malice by quiet neutrality. They that 
could never have injured a character by invectives, 
may combine to annihilate it by silence; as the 
women of Rome threatened to put an end to con- 
quest and dominion, by supplying no children to 
the commonwealth. 

211 


THE RAMBLER 


When a writer has with long toil produced a 
work intended to burst upon mankind with unex- 
pected lustre, and withdraw the attention of the 
learned world from every other controversy or 
inquiry, he is seldom contented to wait long with- 
out the enjoyment of his new praises. With an 
imagination full of his own importance, he walks 
out like a monarch in disguise to learn the various 
opinions of his readers. Prepared to feast upon ad- 
miration; composed to encounter censures without 
emotion; and determined not to suffer his quiet to 
be injured by a sensibility too exquisite of praise 
or blame, but to laugh with equal contempt at 
vain objections and injudicious commendations, he 
enters the places of mingled conversation, sits 
down to his tea in an obscure corner, and, while he 
appears to examine a file of antiquated journals, 
catches the conversation of the whole room. He 
listens, but hears no mention of his book, and 
therefore supposes that he has disappointed his 
curiosity by delay; and that as men of learning 
would naturally begin their conversation with such 
a wonderful novelty, they had digressed to other 
subjects before his arrival. The company disperses, 
and their places are supplied by others equally ig- 
norant, or equally careless. The same expectation 
hurries him to another place, from which the same 
disappointment drives him soon away. His impa- 
tience then grows violent and tumultuous; he 
ranges over the town with restless curiosity, and 
hears in one quarter of a cricket-match, in another 

212 


THE RAMBLER 


ot a pick-pocket; is told by some of an unexpected 
bankruptcy; by others of a turtle feast; is some- 
times provoked by importunate inquiries after the 
white bear, and sometimes with praises of the 
dancing dog;; he is afterwards entreated to give his 
judgment upon a wager about the height of the 
Monument; invited to see a foot-race in the adja- 
cent villages; desired to read a ludicrous advertise- 
ment; or consulted about the most effectual method 
of making inquiry after a favourite cat. The whole 
world is busied in affairs which he thinks below 
the notice of reasonable creatures, and which are 
nevertheless sufficient to withdraw all regard from 
his labours and his merits. 

He resolves at last to violate his own modesty, 
and to recall the talkers from their folly by an in- 
quiry after himself. He finds every one provided 
with an answer; one has seen the work advertised, 
but never met with any that had read it; another 
has been so often imposed upon by specious titles, 
that he never buys a book till its character is 
established; a third wonders what any man can 
hope to produce after so many writers of greater 
eminence; the next has inquired after the author, 
but can hear no account of him, and therefore sus- 
pects the name to be fictitious; and another knows 
him to be a man condemned by indigence to write 
too frequently what he does not understand. 

Many are the consolations with which the un- 
happy author endeavours to allay his vexation, and 
fortify his patience. He has written with too little 

213 


THE RAMBLER 


indulgence to the understanding of common read- 
ers; he has fallen upon an age in which solid 
knowledge, and delicate refinement, have given 
way to a low merriment, and idle buffoonery, and 
therefore no writer can hope for distinction, who 
has any higher purpose than to raise laughter. He 
finds that his enemies, such as superiority will al- 
ways raise, have been industrious, while his per- 
formance was in the press, to vilify and blast it; 
and that the bookseller, whom he had resolved to 
enrich, has rivals that obstruct the circulation of 
the copies. He at last reposes upon the considera- 
tion, that the noblest works of learning and genius 
have always made their way slowly against igno- 
rance and prejudice; and that reputation, which is 
never to be lost, must be gradually obtained, as 
animals of longest life are observed not soon to at- 
tain their full stature and strength. 

By such arts of voluntary delusion does every 
man endeavour to conceal his own unimportance 
from himself. It is long before we are convinced of 
the small proportion which every individual bears 
to the collective body of mankind; or learn how 
few can be interested in the fortune of any single 
man; how little vacancy is left in the world for any 
new object of attention; to how small extent the 
brightest blaze of merit can be spread amidst the 
mists of business and of folly; and how soon it is 
clouded by the intervention of other novelties. 
Not only the writer of books, but the commander 
of armies, and the deliverer of nations, will easily 

214 





THE RAMBLER 


outlive all noisy and popular reputation; he may be 
celebrated for a time by the publick voice, but his 
actions and his name will soon be considered as re- 
mote and unaffecting, and be rarely mentioned but 
by those whose alliance gives them some vanity to 
gratify by frequent commemoration. 

It seems not to be sufficiently considered how 
little renown can be admitted in the world. Man- 
kind are kept perpetually busy by their fears or 
desires, and have not more leisure from their own 
affairs, than to acquaint themselves with the acci- 
dents of the current day. Engaged in contriving 
some refuge from calamity, or in shortening the 
way to some new possession, they seldom suffer 
their thoughts to wander to the past or future; 
none but a few solitary students have leisure to in- 
quire into the claims of ancient heroes or sages; 
and names which hoped to range over kingdoms and 
continents, shrink at last into cloisters or colleges. 

Nor is it certain, that even of these dark and 
narrow habitations, these last retreats of fame, the 
possession will be long kept. Of men devoted to 
literature, very few extend their views beyond some 
particular science, and the greater part seldom in- 
quire, even in their own profession, for any authors 
but those whom the present mode of study hap- 
pens to force upon their notice; they desire not to 
fill their minds with unfashionable knowledge, but 
contentedly resign to oblivion those books which 
they now find censured or neglected. 

The hope of fame is necessarily connected with 

215 


THE RAMBLER 


such considerations as must abate the ardour of 
confidence, and repress the vigour of pursuit. Who- 
ever claims renown from any kind of excellence, 
expects to fill the place which is now possessed by 
another; for there are already names of every class 
sufficient to employ all that will desire to remem- 
ber them; and surely he that is pushing his prede- 
cessors into the gulph of obscurity, cannot but 
sometimes suspect, that he must himself sink in 
like manner, and, as he stands upon the same preci- 
pice, be swept away with the same violence. 

It sometimes happens, that fame begins when life 
is at an end; but far the greater number of candi- 
dates for applause have owed their reception in the 
world to some favourable casualties, and have there- 
fore immediately sunk into neglect, when death 
stripped them of their casual influence, and neither 
fortune nor patronage operated in their favour. 
Among those who have better claims to regard, 
the honour paid to their memory is commonly 
proportionate to the reputation which they enjoyed 
in their lives, though still growing fainter, as it is at 
a greater distance from the first emission; and since 
it is so difficult to obtain the notice of contempo- 
raries, how little is to be hoped from future times ? 
What can merit effect by its own force, when the 
help of art or friendship can scarcely support it ? 


216 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 147. TUESDAY, AUGUST 13, 1751 


Tu nihil invita dices faciesve Minerva. 
Hor. Ar. Poet. 385. 





You are of too quick a sight, 
Not to discern which way your talent lies. Roscommon. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


S little things grow great by continual accu- 

mulation, I hope you will not think the dignity 
of your character impaired by an account of a ludi- 
crous persecution, which, though it produced no 
scenes of horrour or of ruin, yet, by incessant im- 
portunity of vexation, wears away my happiness, 
and consumes those years which nature seems par- 
ticularly to have assigned to cheerfulness, in silent 
anxiety and helpless resentment. 

I am the eldest son of a gentleman, who having 
inherited a large estate from his ancestors, and feel- 
ing no desire either to increase or lessen it, has from 
the time of his marriage generally resided at his 
own seat; where, by dividing his time among the 
duties of a father, a master, and a magistrate, the 
study of literature, and the offices of civility, he 
finds means to rid himself of the day, without any 
of those amusements, which all those with whom 
my residence in this place has made me acquainted, 
think necessary to lighten the burthen of existence. 

When my age made me capable of instruction, 
my father prevailed upon a gentleman, long known 
at Oxford for the extent of his learning and the 

217 


THE RAMBLER 


purity of his manners, to undertake my education. 
The regard with which I saw him treated, disposed 
me to consider his instructions as important, and I 
therefore soon formed a habit of attention, by 
which I made very quick advances in different 
kinds of learning, and heard, perhaps too often, 
very flattering comparisons of my own proficiency 
with that of others, either less docile by nature, or 
less happily forwarded by instruction. I was ca- 
ressed by all that exchanged visits with my father; 
and as young men are with little difficulty taught 
to judge favourably of themselves, began to think 
that close application was no longer necessary, and 
that the time was now come when I was at liberty 
to read only for amusement, and was to receive the 
reward of my fatigues in praise and admiration. 

While I was thus banqueting upon my own per- 
fections, and longing in secret to escape from tutor- 
age, my father’s brother came from London to pass 
a summer at his native place. A lucrative employ- 
ment which he possessed, and a fondness for the 
conversation and diversions of the gay part of man- 
kind, had so long kept him from rural excursions, 
that I had never seen him since my infancy. My 
curiosity was therefore strongly excited by the hope 
of observing a character more nearly, which I had 
hitherto reverenced only at a distance. 

From all private and intimate conversation, I 
was long withheld by the perpetual confluence of 
visitants with whom the first news of my uncle’s 
arrival crowded the house; but was amply recom- 

218 


THE RAMBLER 


pensed by seeing an exact and punctilious practice 
of the arts of a courtier, in all the stratagems of 
endearment, the gradations of respect, and varia- 
tions of courtesy. I remarked with what justice of 
distribution he divided his talk to a wide circle; 
with what address he offered to every man an oc- 
easion of indulging some favourite topick, or dis- 
playing some particular attainment; the judgment 
with which he regulated his inquiries after the ab- 
sent; and the care with which he shewed all the 
companions of his early years how strongly they 
were infixed in his memory, by the mention of past 
incidents and the recital of puerile kindnesses, dan- 
gers, and frolicks. I soon discovered that he pos- 
sessed some seience of graciousness and attraction 
which books had not taught, and of which neither 
I nor my father had any knowledge; that he had 
the power of obliging those whom he did not bene- 
fit; that he diffused, upon his cursory behaviour 
and most trifling actions, a gloss of softness and 
delicacy by which every one was dazzled; and that, 
by some occult method of captivation, he animated 
the timorous, softened the supercilious, and opened 
the reserved. I could not but repine at the inele- 
gance of my own manners, which left me no hopes 
but not to offend, and at the inefficacy of rustick 
benevolence, which gained no friends but by real 
service. 

My uncle saw the veneration with which I 
caught every accent of his voice, and watched 
every motion of his hand; and the awkward dili- 

219 


THE RAMBLER 


gence with which I endeavoured to imitate his 
embrace of fondness, and his bow of respect. He 
was, like others, easily flattered by an imitator by 
whom he could not fear ever to be rivalled, and 
repaid my assiduities with compliments and pro- 
fessions. Our fondness was so increased by a mu- 
tual endeavour to please each other, that when he 
returned to London, he declared himself unable to 
leave a nephew so amiable and so accomplished 
behind him; and obtained my father’s permission 
to enjoy my company for a few months, by a 
promise to initiate me in the arts of politeness, 
and introduce me into publick life. 

The courtier had little inclination to fatigue, and 
therefore, by travelling very slowly, afforded me 
time for more loose and familiar conversation; but 
I soon found, that by a few inquiries which he was 
not well prepared to satisfy, I had made him weary 
of his young companion. His element was a mixed 
assembly, where ceremony and healths, compli- 
ments and common topicks, kept the tongue em- 
ployed with very little assistance from memory or 
reflection; but in the chariot, where he was necessi- 
tated to support a regular tenour of conversation, 
without any relief from a new comer, or any power 
of starting into gay digressions, or destroying argu- 
ment by a jest, he soon discovered that poverty of 
ideas which had been hitherto concealed under the 
tinsel of politeness. The first day he entertained 
me with the novelties and wonders with which I 
should be astonished at my entrance into London, 

220 


THE RAMBLER 


and cautioned me with apparent admiration of his 
own wisdom against the arts by which rusticity is 
frequently deluded. The same detail and the same 
advice he would have repeated on the second day ; 
but as I every moment diverted the discourse to 
the history of the towns by which we passed, or 
some other subject of learning or of reason, he soon 
lost his vivacity, grew peevish and silent, wrapped 
his cloak about him, composed himself to slumber, 
and reserved his gaiety for fitter auditors. 

At length I entered London, and my uncle was 
reinstated in his superiority. He awaked at once to 
loquacity as soon as our wheels rattled on the pave- 
ment, and told me the name of every street as we 
crossed it, and owner of every house as we passed 
by. He presented me to my aunt, a lady of great 
eminence for the number of her acquaintances, and 
splendour of her assemblies, and either in kindness 
or revenge consulted with her, in my presence, how 
I might be most advantageously dressed for my 
first appearance, and most expeditiously disencum- 
bered from my villatick bashfulness. My indignation 
at familiarity thus contemptuous flushed in my 
face; they mistook anger for shame, and alternately 
exerted their eloquence upon the benefits of publick 
education, and the happiness of an assurance early 
acquired. 

Assurance is, indeed, the only qualification to 
which they seem to have annexed merit, and assur- 
ance, therefore, is perpetually recommended to me 
as the supply of every defect, and the ornament of 

221 


THE RAMBLER 


every excellence. I never sit silent in company when 
secret history is circulating, but I am reproached 
for want of assurance. If I fail to return the stated 
answer to a compliment; if I am disconcerted by 
unexpected raillery; if I blush when I am discov- 
ered gazing on a beauty, or hesitate when I find 
myself embarrassed in an argument; if I am unwill- 
ing to talk of what I do not understand, or timorous 
in undertaking offices which I cannot gracefully 
perform; if I suffer a more lively tatler to recount 
the casualties of a game, or a nimbler fop to pick 
up a fan, 1 am censured between pity and con- 
tempt, as a wretch doomed to grovel in obscurity 
for want of assurance. 

I have found many young persons harassed in 
the same manner, by those to whom age has given 
nothing but the assurance which they recommend; 
and therefore cannot but think it useful to inform 
them, that cowardice and delicacy are not to be 
confounded; and that he whose stupidity has 
armed him against the shafts of ridicule, will always 
act and speak with greater audacity, than they 
whose sensibility represses their ardour, and who 
dare never let their confidence outgrow their 
abilities. 


222 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 148. SATURDAY, AUGUST 17, 1751 


Me pater sevis oneret catenis, 
Quod viro clemens misero peperci: 
Me vel extremis Numidarum in agros 
Classe releget. Hor. Lib. iii. Od. xi. 45. 


Me let my father load with chains, 
Or banish to Numidia’s farthest plains! 
My crime, that I, a loyal wife, 
In kind compassion sav’d my husband’s life. FRaNcIs. 


OLITICIANS remark, that no oppression is 

so heavy or lasting as that which is inflicted by 
the perversion and exorbitance of legal authority. 
The robber may be seized, and the invader repelled, 
whenever they are found; they who pretend no 
right but that of force, may by force be punished 
or suppressed. But when plunder bears the name of 
impost, and murder is perpetrated by a judicial 
sentence, fortitude is intimidated, and wisdom con- 
founded: resistance shrinks from an alliance with 
rebellion, and the villain remains secure in the robes 
of the magistrate. 

Equally dangerous and equally detestable are the 
cruelties often exercised in private families, under 
the venerable sanction of parental authority; the 
power which we are taught to honour from the first 
moments of reason; which is guarded from insult 
and violation by all that can impress awe upon the 
mind of man; and which therefore may wanton in 
cruelty without control, and trample the bounds 
of right with innumerable transgressions, before 
duty and piety will dare to seek redress, or think 

223 


THE RAMBLER 


themselves at liberty to recur to any other means 
of deliverance than supplications by which insolence 
is elated, and tears by which cruelty is gratified. 

It was for a long time imagined by the Romans, 
that no son could be the murderer of his father; 
and they had therefore no punishment appropriated 
to parricide. They seem likewise to have believed 
with equal confidence, that no father could be cruel 
to his child; and therefore they allowed every man 
the supreme judicature in his own house, and put 
the lives of his offspring into his hands. But ex- 
perience informed them by degrees, that they de- 
termined too hastily in favour of human nature; 
they found that instinct and habit were not able to 
contend with avarice or malice; that the nearest 
relation might be violated; and that power, to 
whomsoever intrusted, might be ill employed. They 
were therefore obliged to supply and to change 
their institutions; to deter the parricide by a new 
law, and to transfer capital punishments from the 
parent to the magistrate. 

There are indeed many houses which it is impos- 
sible to enter familiarly, without discovering that 
parents are by no means exempt from the intoxi- 
cations of dominion; and that he who is in no 
danger of hearing remonstrances but from his own 
conscience, will seldom be long without the art of 
controling his convictions, and modifying justice by 
his own will. 


| 


If in any situation the heart were inaccessible to — 


malignity, it might be supposed to be sufficiently 
224 


| 








Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds,PRA. 


S WENTWORTH 


la 


CHARLIE 


MARQUIS OF ROCKINGHAM 











THE RAMBLER 


secured by parental relation. To have voluntarily 
become to any being the occasion of its existence, 
produces an obligation to make that existence 
happy. To see helpless infancy stretching out her 
hands, and pouring out her cries in testimony of 
dependence, without any powers to alarm jealousy, 
or any guilt to alienate affection, must surely awaken 
tenderness in every human mind; and tenderness 
once excited will be hourly increased by the natural 
contagion of felicity, by the repercussion of com- 
municated pleasure, by the consciousness of the 
dignity of benefaction. I believe no generous or 
benevolent man can see the vilest animal courting 
his regard, and shrinking at his anger, playing his 
gambols of delight before him, calling on him in 
_ distress, and flying to him in danger, without more 
kindness than he can persuade himself to feel for 
the wild and unsocial inhabitants of the air and 
water. We naturally endear to ourselves those to 
whom we impart any kind of pleasure, because we 
imagine their affection and esteem secured to us by 
the benefits which they receive. 

There is, indeed, another method by which the 
pride of superiority may be likewise gratified. He 
that has extinguished all the sensations of human- 
ity, and has no longer any satisfaction in the reflec- 
tion that he is loved as the distributor of happiness, 
may please himself with exciting terrour as the in- 
flictor of pain: he may delight his solitude with 
contemplating the extent of his power and the 


force of his commands; in imagining the desires 
Vor. 3—15 225 


THE RAMBLER 


that flutter on the tongue which is forbidden to 
utter them, or the discontent which preys on the 
heart in which fear confines it: he may amuse him- 
self with new contrivances of detection, multiplica- 
tions of prohibition, and varieties of punishment; and 
swell with exultation when he considers how little of 
the homage that he receives he owes to choice. 

That princes of this character have been known, 
the history of all absolute kingdoms will inform us; 
and since, as Aristotle observes, 4 otxovopix) povapX fa, 
the government of a family is naturally monarchical, 
it is, like other monarchies, too often arbitrarily 
administered. The regal and parental tyrant differ 
only in the extent of their dominions, and the num- 
ber of their slaves. The same passions cause the 
same miseries; except that seldom any prince, how- 
ever despotick, has so far shaken off all awe of the 
publick eye, as to venture upon those freaks of in- 
justice, which are sometimes indulged under the 
secrecy of a private dwelling. Capricious injunc- 
tions, partial decisions, unequal allotments, distri- 
butions of reward, not by merit, but by fancy, and 
punishments, regulated not by the degree of the 
offence, but by the humour of the judge, are too 
frequent where no power is known but that of a 
father. 

That he delights in the misery of others, no man 
will confess, and yet what other motive can make a 
father cruel? The king may be instigated by one 
man to the destruction of another; he may some- 
times think himself endangered by the virtues of a 

226 


THE RAMBLER 


subject; he may dread the successful general or the 
popular orator; his avarice may point out golden 
confiscations; and his guilt may whisper that he can 
only be secure by cutting off all power of revenge. 

But what can a parent hope from the oppression 
of those who were born to his protection, of those 
who can disturb him with no competition, who can 
enrich him with no spoils ? Why cowards are cruel 
may be easily discovered; but for what reason, not 
more infamous than cowardice, can that man de- 
light in oppression who has nothing to fear ? 

The unjustifiable severity of a parent is loaded 
with this aggravation, that those whom he injures 
are always in his sight. The injustice of a prince is 
often exercised upon those of whom he never had 
any personal or particular knowledge; and the sen- 
tence which he pronounces, whether of banishment, 
imprisonment, or death, removes from his view the 
man whom he condemns. But the domestick op- 
pressor dooms himself to gaze upon those faces 
which he clouds with terrour and with sorrow; and 
beholds every moment the effects of his own bar- 
barities. He that can bear to give continual pain to 
those who surround him, and can walk with satis- 
faction in the gloom of his own presence; he that 
can see submissive misery without relenting, and 
meet without emotion the eye that implores mercy, 
or demands justice, will scarcely be amended by 
remonstrance or admonition; he has found means 
of stopping the avenues of tenderness, and arming 
his heart against the force of reason. 

227 


THE RAMBLER 


Even though no consideration should be paid to 
the great law of social beings, by which every indi- 
vidual is commanded to consult the happiness of 
others, yet the harsh parent is less to be vindicated 
than any other criminal, because he less provides 
for the happiness of himself. Every man, however 
little he loves others, would willingly be loved; 
every man hopes to live long, and therefore hopes 
for that time at which he shall sink back to imbe- 
cility, and must depend for ease and cheerfulness 
upon the officiousness of others. But how has he 
obviated the inconveniences of old age, who alien- 
ates from him the assistance of his children, and 
whose bed must be surrounded in the last hours, in 
the hours of languor and dejection, of impatience 
and of pain, by strangers to whom his life is indiffer- 
ent, or by enemies to whom his death is desirable ? 

Piety will, indeed, in good minds overcome prov- 
ocation, and those who have been harassed by 
brutality will forget the injuries which they have 
suffered, so far as to perform the last duties with 
alacrity and zeal. But surely no resentment can be 
equally painful with kindness thus undeserved, nor 
can severer punishment be imprecated upon a man 
not wholly lost in meanness and stupidity, than, 
through the tediousness of decreptitude, to be re- 
proached by the kindness of his own children, to 
receive not the tribute but the alms of attendance, 
and to owe every relief of his miseries, not to 
gratitude but to mercy. 


228 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 149. TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 1751 


Quod non sit Pylades hoc tempore, non sit Orestes, 
Miraris? Pylades, Marce, bibebat idem. 
Nec melior panis, turdusve dabatur Oresti : 
Sed par, atque eadem cena duobus erat. 
Te Cadmea Tyros, me pinguis Gallia vestit : 
Vis te purpureum, Marce, sagatus amem ? 
Ut prestem Pylanden, aliquis mihi prestet Oresiem. 
Hoc non jit verbis, Marce: ut ameris, ama. 
Mart. Lib. vi. Ep. xi. 


You wonder now that no man sees 
Such friends as those of ancient Greece. 
Here lay the point-——Orestes’ meat 
Was just the same his friend did eat; 
Nor can it yet be found, his wine 

Was better, Pylades, than thine. 

In home-spun russet, I am drest, 

Your cloth is always of the best; 

But, honest Marcus, if you please 

To chuse me for your Pylades, 
Remember, words alone are vain; 
Love——if you would be lov’d again. F. Lewis. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


O depravity of the mind has been more fre- 

quently or justly censured than ingratitude. 
There is indeed sufficient reason for looking on those 
that can return evil for good, and repay kindness 
and assistance, with hatred or neglect, as corrupted 
beyond the common degrees of wickedness; nor 
will he, who ‘has once been clearly detected in acts 
of injury to his benefactor, deserve to be numbered 
among social beings; he has endeavoured to destroy 
confidence, to intercept sympathy, and to turn 
every man’s attention wholly on himself. 

229 


THE RAMBLER 


There is always danger lest the honest abhorrence 
of a crime should raise the passions with too much 
violence against the man to whom it is imputed. 
In proportion as guilt is more enormous, it ought 
to be ascertained by stronger evidence. The charge 
against ingratitude is very general; almost every 
man can tell what favours he has conferred upon 
insensibility, and how much happiness he has be- 
stowed without return; but perhaps, if these pa- 
trons and protectors were confronted with any 
whom they boast of having befriended, it would 
often appear that they consulted only their pleas- 
ure or vanity, and repaid themselves their petty 
donatives by gratifications of insolence and indul- 
gence of contempt. 

It has happened that much of my time has been 
passed in a dependent state, and consequently I 
have received many favours in the opinion of those 
at whose expense I have been maintained; yet I 
do not feel in my heart any burning gratitude or 
tumultuous affection; and, as I would not willing 
suppose myself less susceptible of virtuous passions 
than the rest of mankind, I shall lay the history of 
my life before you, that you may, by your judgment 
of my conduct, either reform, or confirm, my pres- 
ent sentiments. 

My father was the second son of a very ancient 
and wealthy family. He married a lady of equal 
birth, whose fortune, joined to his own, might have 
supported his posterity in honour; but being gay 
and ambitious, he prevailed on his friends to pro- 

230 


THE RAMBLER 


cure him a post, which gave him an opportunity of 
displaying his elegance and politeness. My mother 
was equally pleased with splendour, and equally 
careless of expense; they both justified their pro- 
fusion to themselves, by endeavouring to believe it 
necessary to the extension of their acquaintance, 
and improvement of their interest; and whenever 
any place became vacant, they expected to be re- 
paid. In the midst of these hopes my father was 
snatched away by an apoplexy; and my mother, 
who had no pleasure but in dress, equipage, assem- 
blies, and compliments, finding that she could live 
no longer in her accustomed rank, sunk into de- 
jection, and in two years wore out her life with envy 
and discontent. 

I was sent with a sister, one year younger than 
myself, to the elder brother of my father. We were 
not yet capable of observing how much fortune in- 
fluences affection, but flattered ourselves on the 
road with the tenderness and regard with which 
we should be treated by our uncle. Our reception 
was rather frigid than malignant; we were intro- 
duced to our young cousins, and for the first month 
more frequently consoled than upbraided; but in a 
short time we found our prattle repressed, our dress 
neglected, our endearments unregarded, and our 
requests referred to the housekeeper. 

- The forms of decency were now violated, and 

every day produced new insults. We were soon 

brought to the necessity of receding from our im- 

agined equality with our cousins, to whom we sunk 
231 


THE RAMBLER 


into humble companions without choice or influ- 
ence, expected only to echo their opinions, facilitate 
their desires, and accompany their rambles. It was 
unfortunate that our early introduction into polite 
company, and habitual knowledge of the arts of 
civility, had given us such an appearance of superi- 
ority to the awkward bashfulness of our relations, 
as naturally drew respect and preference from every 
stranger; and my aunt was forced to assert the dig- 
nity of her own children, while they were sculking 
in corners for fear of notice, and hanging down 
their heads in silent confusion, by relating the in- 
discretion of our father, displaying her own kind- 
ness, lamenting the misery of birth without estate, 
and declaring her anxiety for our future provision, 
and the expedients which she had formed to secure 
us from those follies or crimes, to which the con- 
junction of pride and want often gives occasion. 
In a short time care was taken to prevent such 
vexatious mistakes; we were told, that fine clothes 
would only fill our heads with false expectations, 
and our dress was therefore accommodated to our 
fortune. 

Childhood is not easily dejected or mortified. 
We felt no lasting pain from insolence or neglect; 
but finding that we were favoured and commended 
by all whose interest did not prompt them to dis- 
countenance us, preserved our vivacity and spirit to 
years of greater sensibility. It then became irksome 
and disgusting to live without any principle of ac- 
tion but the will of another, and we often met pri- 

232 


THE RAMBLER 


vately in the garden to lament our condition, and 
to ease our hearts with mutual narratives of caprice, 
peevishness, and affront. 

There are innumerable modes of insult and tokens 
of contempt, for which it is not easy to find a name, 
which vanish to nothing in an attempt to describe 
them, and yet may, by continual repetition, make 
day pass after day in sorrow and in terrour. Phrases 
of cursory compliment and established salutation 
may, by a different modulation of the voice, or cast 
of the countenance, convey contrary meanings, and 
be changed from indications of respect to expres- 
sions of scorn. The dependant who cultivates delicacy 
in himself, very little consults his own tranquillity. 
My unhappy vigilance is every moment discovering 
some petulance of accent, or arrogance of mien, some 
vehemence of interrogation, or quickness of reply, 
that recalls my poverty to my mind, and which I 
feel more acutely, as I know not how to resent it. 

You are not, however, to imagine, that I think 
myself discharged from the duties of gratitude, only 
because my relations do not adjust their looks, or 
tune their voices to my expectation. The insolence 
of benefaction terminates not in negative rudeness 
or obliquities of insult. I am often told in express 
terms of the miseries from which charity has 
snatched me, while multitudes are suffered by re- 
lations equally near to devolve upon the parish; and 
have more than once heard it numbered among 
other favours, that I am admitted to the same table 
with my cousins. 

233 


THE RAMBLER 


That I sit at the first table I must acknowledge, 
but I sit there only that I may feel the stings of 
inferiority. My inquiries are neglected, my opinion 
is overborne, my assertions are controverted, and, 
as insolence always propagates itself, the servants 
overlook me, in imitation of their master; if I call 
modestly, I am not heard; if loudly, my usurpation 
of authority is checked by a general frown. I am 
often obliged to look uninvited upon delicacies, and 
sometimes desired to rise upon very slight pretences. 

The incivilities to which I am exposed would 
give me less pain, were they not aggravated by 
the tears of my sister, whom the young ladies are 
hourly tormenting with every art of feminine per- 
secution. As it is said of the supreme magistrate of 
Venice, that he is a prince in one place and a slave 
in another, my sister is a servant to her cousins in 
their apartments, and a companion only at the 
table. Her wit and beauty drew so much regard 
away from them, that they never suffer her to ap- 
pear with them in any place where they solicit 
notice, or expect admiration; and when they are 
visited by neighbouring ladies and pass their hours 
in domestick amusements, she is sometimes called 
to fill a vacancy, insulted with contemptuous free- 
doms, and dismissed to her needle, when her place 
is supplied. The heir has of late, by the instigation 
of his sisters, begun to harass her with clownish 
jocularity ; he seems inclined to make his first rude 
essays of waggery upon her; and by the connivance, 
if not encouragement, of his father, treats her with 

234 


THE RAMBLER 


such licentious brutality, as I cannot bear, though 
I cannot punish it. 

I beg to be informed, Mr. Rambler, how much 
we can be supposed to owe to beneficence, exerted 
on terms like these ? to beneficence which pollutes 
its gifts with contumely, and may be truly said to 
pander to pride ? I would willingly be told, whether 
insolence does not reward its own liberalities, and 
whether he that exacts servility can, with justice, 
at the same time, expect affection ? 


I am, Sir, &e. 
HyPpERDULUS. 


No. 150. SATURDAY, AUGUST 24, 1751 


——O munera nondum 
Intellecta Detim ! Lucan. 





Thou chiefest good! 
Bestow’d by Heav’n, but seldom understood. Rowe. 


S daily experience makes it evident that mis- 
fortunes are unavoidably incident to human 
life, that calamity will neither be repelled by forti- 
tude, nor escaped by flight; neither awed by great- 
ness, nor eluded by obscurity; philosophers have 
endeavoured to reconcile us to that condition which 
they cannot teach us to mend, by persuading us 
that most of our evils are made afflictive only by 
ignorance or perverseness, and that nature has 
annexed to every vicissitude of external circum- 
stances some advantage sufficient to overbalance 
all its inconveniences. 
This attempt may, perhaps, be justly suspected 
235 


THE RAMBLER 


of resemblance to the practice of physicians, who, 
when they cannot mitigate pain, destroy sensibility, 
and endeavour to conceal, by opiates, the inefficacy 
of their other medicines. The panegyrists of calam- 
ity have more frequently gained applause to their 
wit, than acquiescence to their arguments; nor has 
it appeared that the most musical oratory, or subtle 
ratiocination, has been able long to overpower the 
anguish of oppression, the tediousness of languor, 
or the longings of want. 

Yet, it may be generally remarked, that, where 
much has been attempted, something has been per- 
formed; though the discoveries or acquisitions of 
man are not always adequate to the expectations 
of his pride, they are at least sufficient to animate 
his industry. The antidotes with which philosophy 
has medicated the cup of life, though they cannot 
give it salubrity and sweetness, have at least allayed 
its bitterness, and contempered its malignity; the 
balm which she drops upon the wounds of the mind 
abates their pain, though it cannot heal them. 

By suffering willingly what we cannot avoid, we 
secure ourselves from vain and immoderate dis- 
quiet; we preserve for better purposes that strength 
which would be unprofitably wasted in wild efforts 
of desperation, and maintain that circumspection 
which may enable us to seize every support, and 
improve every alleviation. This calmness will be 
more easily obtained, as the attention is more 
powerfully withdrawn from the contemplation of 
unmingled unabated evil, and diverted to those 

236 


THE RAMBLER 


accidental benefits which prudence may confer on 
every state. 

Seneca has attempted, not only to pacify us in 
misfortune, but almost to allure us to it, by repre- 
senting it as necessary to the pleasures of the mind. 
He that never was acquainted with adversity, says 
he, has seen the world but on one side, and is ignorant 
of half the scenes of nature. He invites his pupil to 
calamity, as the Syrens allured the passenger to 
their coasts, by promising that he shall return zieova 
edd, With increase of knowledge, with enlarged 
views, and multiplied ideas. 

Curiosity is, in great and generous minds, the first 
passion and the last; and perhaps always predomi- 
nates in proportion to the strength of the contem- 
plative faculties. He who easily comprehends all 
that is before him, and soon exhausts any single 
subject, is always eager for new inquiries; and, in 
proportion as the intellectual eye takes in a wider 
prospect, it must be gratified with variety by more 
rapid flights, and bolder excursions; nor perhaps can 
there be proposed to those who have been accus- 
tomed to the pleasures of thought, a more powerful 
incitement to any undertaking, than the hope of 
filling their fancy with new images, of clearing 
their doubts, and enlightening their reason. 

When Jason, in Valerius Flaccus, would incline 
the young prince Acastus to accompany him in the 
first essay of navigation, he disperses his apprehen- 
sions of danger by representations of the new tracts 
of earth and heaven, which the expedition would 

237 


THE RAMBLER 


spread before their eyes; and tells him with what 
grief he will hear, at their return, of the countries 
which they shall have seen, and the toils which they 
have surmounted: 


O quantum terre, quantum cognoscere coli 
Permissum est! pelague quantos aperimus in usus! 
Nunc forsan grave reris opus: sed leta recurret 
Cum ratis, e& caram cum gam mihi reddet Iolcon; 
Quis pudor heu nostros tibi tunc audire labores! 
Quam referam visas tua per suspicia gentes! 
Are. Lib. i. 168. 


Led by our stars, what tracts immense we trace! 

From seas remote, what funds of science raise! 

A pain to thought! but when the heroick band 

Returns applauded to their native land, 

A life domestick you will then deplore, 

And sigh while I describe the various shore. Epw. Cave. 

Acastus was soon prevailed upon by his curiosity 
to set rocks and hardships at defiance, and commit 
his life to the winds; and the same motives have in 
all ages had the same effect upon those whom the 
desire of fame or wisdom has distinguished from 
the lower orders of mankind. 

If, therefore, it can be proved that distress is 
necessary to the attainment of knowledge, and that 
a happy situation hides from us so large a part of 
the field of meditation, the envy of many who repine 
at the sight of affluence and splendour will be much 
diminished ; for such is the delight of mental supe- 
riority, that none on whom nature or study have 
conferred it, would purchase the gifts of fortune by 
its loss. 

It is certain, that however the rhetorick of Seneca 
may have dressed adversity with extrinsick orna- 

238 














THE RAMBLER 


ments, he has justly represented it as affording some 
opportunities of observation, which cannot be found 
im continual success; he has truly asserted, that to 
escape misfortune is to want instruction, and that 
to live at ease is to live in ignorance. 

As no man can enjoy happiness without thinking 
that he enjoys it, the experience of calamity is nec- 
essary to a just sense of better fortune: for the good 
of our present state is merely comparative, and the 
evil which every man feels will be sufficient to dis- 
turb and harass him, if he does not know how much 
he escapes. The lustre of diamonds is invigorated by 
the interposition of darker bodies; the lights of a 
picture are created by the shades. The highest 
pleasure which nature has indulged to sensitive per- 
ception, is that of rest after fatigue; yet, that state 
which labour heightens into delight, is of itself only 
ease, and is incapable of satisfying the mind with- 
out the superaddition of diversified amusements. 

Prosperity, as is truly asserted by Seneca, very 
much obstructs the knowledge of ourselves. No man 
can form a just estimate of his own powers by 
unactive speculation. That fortitude which has en- 
countered no dangers, that prudence which has sur- 
mounted no difficulties, that integrity which has 
been attacked by no temptations, can at best be 
considered but as gold not yet brought to the test, 
of which therefore the true value cannot be assigned. 
He that traverses the lists without an adversary, may 
_ receive, says the philosopher, the reward of victory, 
but he has no pretensions to the honour. If it be the 
239 


THE RAMBLER 


highest happiness of man to contemplate himself 
with satisfaction, and to receive the gratulations of 
his own conscience; he whose courage has made 
way amidst the turbulence of opposition, and whose 
vigour has broken through the snares of distress, 
has many advantages over those that have slept in 
the shades of indolence, and whose retrospect of 
time can entertain them with nothing but day rising 
upon day, and year gliding after year. 

Equally necessary is some variety of fortune to a 
nearer inspection of the manners, principles, and 
affections of mankind. Princes, when they would 
know the opinions or grievances of their subjects, 
find it necessary to steal away from guards and at- 
tendants, and mingle on equal terms among the 
people. To him who is known to have the power 
of doing good or harm, nothing is shewn in its natu- 
ral form. The behaviour of all that approach him is 
regulated by his humour, their narratives are adapted 
to his inclination, and their reasonings determined 
by his opinions; whatever can alarm suspicion, or ex- 
cite resentment, is carefully suppressed, and nothing 
appears but uniformity of sentiments, and ardour 
of affection. It may be observed, that the unvaried 
complaisance which ladies have the right of exact- 
ing, keeps them generally unskilled in human 
nature; prosperity will always enjoy the female 
prerogatives, and therefore must be always in dan- 
ger of female ignorance. Truth is scarcely to be 
heard, but by those from whom it can serve no in- 
terest to conceal it. 

240 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 151. TUESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1751 





"Apgr © av0po- 
twy pocow aurhaxtat 


"AvaptOpatot xpgpavrae 


~ 


Todto © dudyavoy cdbpety, 
"O te vov, xart ev tedev- 
td, Péptatoy avdpt tvysty. Prnpar, Ol. vii. 43. 
But wrapt in error is the human mind, 
And human bliss is ever insecure: 
Know we what fortune yet remains behind? 
Know we how long the present shall endure? West. 


HE writers of medicine and physiology have 

traced, with great appearance of accuracy, the 
effects of time upon the human body, by marking 
the various periods of the constitution, and the sev- 
eral stages by which animal life makes its progress 
from infancy to decrepitude. Though their observa- 
tions have not enabled them to discover how 
manhood may be accelerated, or old age retarded, 
yet surely, if they be considered only as the amuse- 
ments of curiosity, they are of equal importance 
with conjectures on things more remote, with cata- 
logues of the fixed stars, and calculations of the 
bulk of planets. 

It had been a task worthy of the moral philoso- 
phers to have considered with equal care the cli- 
matericks of the mind; to have pointed out the 
time at which every passion begins and ceases to 
predominate, and noted the regular variations of 
desire, and the succession of one appetite to another. 


The periods of mental change are not to be 
Vout. 3—16 PAI 


THE RAMBLER 


stated with equal certainty; our bodies grow up 
under the care of nature, and depend so little 
on our own management, that something more 
than negligence is necessary to discompose their 
structure, or impede their vigour. But our minds 
are committed in a great measure first to the direc- 
tion of others, and afterwards of ourselves. It would 
be difficult to protract the weakness of infancy be- 
yond the usual time, but the mind may be very 
easily hindered from its share of improvement, and 
the bulk and strength of manhood must, without 
the assistance of education and instruction, be in- 
formed only with the understanding of a child. 
Yet, amidst all the disorder and inequality which 
variety of discipline, example, conversation, and 
employment, produce in the intellectual advances 
of different men, there is still discovered, by a vigi- 
lant spectator, such a general and remote similitude, 
as may be expected in the same common nature 
affected by external circumstances indefinitely 
varied. We all enter the world in equal ignorance, 
gaze round about us on the same objects, and have 
our first pains and pleasures, our first hopes and 
fears, our first aversions and desires, from the same 
causes; and though, as we proceed farther, life opens 
wider prospects to our view, and accidental im- 
pulses determine us to different paths, yet as every 
mind, however vigorous or abstracted, is necessi- 
tated, in its present state of union, to receive its 
informations, and execute its purposes, by the in- 
tervention of the body, the uniformity of our cor- 
242 


THE RAMBLER 


poreal nature communicates itself to our intellectual 
operations; and those whose abilities or knowledge 
incline them most to deviate from the general 
round of life, are recalled from eccentricity by the 
laws of their existence. 

If we consider the exercises of the mind, it will 
be found that in each part of life some particular 
faculty is more eminently employed. When the 
treasures of knowledge are first opened before us, 
while novelty blooms alike on either hand, and 
every thing equally unknown and unexamined 
seems of equal value, the power of the soul is prin- 
cipally exerted in a vivacious and desultory curi- 
osity. She applies by turns to every object, enjoys 
it for a short time, and flies with equal ardour to 
another. She delights to catch up loose and uncon- 
nected ideas, but starts away from systems and 
complications, which would obstruct the rapidity 
of her transitions, and detain her long in the same 
pursuit. 

When a number of distinct images are collected 
by these erratick and hasty surveys, the fancy is 
busied in arranging them; and combines them into 
pleasing pictures with more resemblance to the 
realities of life as experience advances, and new ob- 
servations rectify the former. While the judgment is 
yet uninformed, and unable to compare the draughts 
of fiction with their originals, we are delighted with 
improbable adventures, impracticable virtues, and 
inimitable characters: but, in proportion as we have 
more opportunities of acquainting ourselves with 

243 


THE RAMBLER 


living nature, we are sooner disgusted with copies 
in which there appears no resemblance. We first 
discard absurdity and impossibility, then exact 
greater and greater degrees of probability, but at 
last become cold and insensible to the charms of 
falsehood, however specious, and, from the imita- 
tions of truth, which are never perfect, transfer our 
affection to truth itself. 

Now commences the reign of judgment or reason ; 
we begin to find little pleasure but in comparing 
arguments, stating propositions, disentangling per- 
plexities, clearing ambiguities, and deducing con- 
sequences. The painted vales of imagination are 
deserted, and our intellectual activity is exercised 
in winding through the labyrinths of fallacy, and 
toiling with firm and cautious steps up the narrow 
tracks of demonstration. Whatever may lull vigi- 
lance, or mislead attention, is contemptuously re- 
jected, and every disguise in which errour may be 
concealed, is carefully observed, till, by degrees, a 
certain number of incontestable or unsuspected 
propositions are established, and at last concatenated 
into arguments, or compacted into systems. 

At length weariness succeeds to labour, and the 
mind lies at ease in the contemplation of her own 
attainments, without any desire of new conquests 
or excursions. This is the age of recollection and 
narrative; the opinions are settled, and the avenues 
of apprehension shut against any new intelligence; 
the days that are to follow must pass in the incul- 
cation of precepts already collected, and assertion 

244 


THE RAMBLER 


of tenets already received; nothing is henceforward 
so odious as opposition, so insolent as doubt, or so 
dangerous as novelty. 

In like manner the passions usurp the separate 
command of the successive periods of life. To the 
happiness of our first years nothing more seems 
necessary than freedom from restraint; every man 
may remember that if he was left to himself, and 
indulged in the disposal of his own time, he was 
once content without: the superaddition of any 
actual pleasure. The new world is itself a banquet; 
and, till we have exhausted the freshness of life, 
we have always about us sufficient gratifications: 
the sunshine quickens us to play, and the shade 
invites us to sleep. 

But we soon become unsatisfied with negative 
felicity, and are solicited by our senses and appetites 
to more powerful delights, as the taste of him who 
has satisfied his hunger must be excited by artificial 
stimulations. The simplicity of natural amusement 
is now past, and art and contrivance must improve 
our pleasures; but, in time, art, like nature, is ex- 
hausted, and the senses can no longer supply the 
cravings of the intellect. 

The attention is then transferred from pleasure 
to interest, in which pleasure is perhaps included, 
though diffused to a wider extent, and protracted 
through new gradations. Nothing now dances be- 
fore the eyes but wealth and power, nor rings in 
the ear, but the voice of fame; wealth, to which, 
however variously denominated, every man at some 

245 


THE RAMBLER 


time or other aspires; power, which all wish to ob- 
tain within their circle of action; and fame, which 
no man, however high or mean, however wise or 
ignorant, was yet able to despise. Now prudence 
and foresight exert their influence: no hour is de- 
voted wholly to any present enjoyment, no act or 
purpose terminates in itself, but every motion is 
referred to some distant end; the accomplishment 
of one design begins another, and the ultimate wish 
is always pushed off to its former distance. 

At length fame is observed to be uncertain, and 
power to be dangerous; the man whose vigour and 
alacrity begin to forsake him, by degrees contracts 
his designs, remits his former multiplicity of pur- 
suits, and extends no longer his regard to any other 
honour than the reputation of wealth, or any other 
influence than his power. Avarice is generally the 
last passion of those lives of which the first part has 
been squandered in pleasure, and the second devoted 
to ambition. He that sinks under the fatigue of get- 
ting wealth, lulls his age with the milder business 
of saving it. 

I have in this view of life considered man as actu- 
ated only by natural desires, and yielding to their 
own inclinations, without regard to superior princi- 
ples, by which the force of external agents may be 
counteracted, and the temporary prevalence of pas- 
sions restrained. Nature will indeed always operate, 
human desires will be always ranging; but these 
motions, though very powerful, are not resistless; 
nature may be regulated, and desires governed; 

246 


THE RAMBLER 


and, to contend with the predominance of succes- 
sive passions, to be endangered first by one affection, 
and then by another, is the condition upon which 
we are to pass our time, the time of our preparation 
for that state which shall put an end to experiment, 
to disappointment, and to change. 


No. 152. SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1751 


Tristia mestum 
Vultum verba decent, iratum plena minarum. 
Hor. De. Ar. Poet. 105. 


Disastrous words can best disaster shew; 
In angry phrase the angry passions glow. ELpHrInston. 


668 T was the wisdom,’’ says Seneca, “* of ancient 

times, to consider what is most useful as most 
illustrious. ’’ If this rule be applied to works of gen- 
lus, scarcely any species of composition deserves 
more to be cultivated than the epistolary style, 
since none is of more various or frequent use through 
the whole subordination of human life. 

It has yet happened that, among the numerous 
writers which our nation has produced, equal, per- 
haps, always in force and genius, and of late in ele- 
gance and accuracy, to those of any other country, 
very few have endeavoured to distinguish them- 
selves by the publication of letters, except such as 
- were written in the discharge of publick trusts, 
and during the transaction of great affairs; which, 
though they afford precedents to the minister, and 
memorials to the historian, are of no use as ex- 

247 


THE RAMBLER 


amples of the familiar style, or models of private 
correspondence. 

If it be inquired by foreigners, how this deficiency 
has happened in the literature of a country, where 
all indulge themselves with so little danger in speak- 
ing and writing, may we not without either bigotry 
or arrogance inform them, that it must be imputed 
to our contempt of trifles, and our due sense of the 
dignity of the publick ? We do not think it reason- 
able to fill the world with volumes from which 
nothing can be learned, nor expect that the em- 
ployments of the busy, or the amusements of the 
gay, should give way to narratives of our private 
affairs, complaints of absence, expressions of fond- 
ness, or declarations of fidelity. 

A slight perusal of the innumerable letters by 
which the wits of France have signalized their 
names, will prove that other nations need not be 
discouraged from the like attempts by the con- 
sciousness of inability; for surely it is not very dif- 
ficult to aggravate trifling misfortunes, to magnify 
familiar incidents, repeat adulatory professions, ac- 
cumulate servile hyperboles, and produce all that 
can be found in the despicable remains of Voiture 
and Scarron. 

Yet, as much of life must be passed in affairs 
considerable only by their frequent occurrence, and 
much of the pleasure which our condition allows, 
must be produced by giving elegance to trifles, it is 
necessary to learn how to become little without be- 
coming mean, to maintain the necessary intercourse 

248 . 


THE RAMBLER 


of civility, and fill up the vacuities of actions by 
agreeable appearances. It had therefore been of ad- 
vantage, if such of our writers as have excelled in 
the art of decorating insignificance, had supplied us 
with a few sallies of innocent gaiety, effusions of 
honest tenderness, or exclamations of unimportant 
hurry. 

Precept has generally been posterior to perform- 
ance. The art of composing works of genius has 
never been taught but by the example of those who 
performed it by natural vigour of imagination, and 
rectitude of judgment. As we have few letters, we 
have likewise few criticisms upon the epistolary 
style. The observations with which Walsh has in- 
_ troduced his pages of inanity, are such as give him 
little claim to the rank assigned him by Dryden 
among the criticks. Letters, says he, are intended 
as resemblances of conversation, and the chief excel- 
lencies of conversation are good humour and good 
breeding. This remark, equally valuable for its 
novelty and propriety, he dilates and enforces with 
an appearance of complete acquiescence in his own 
discovery. 

No man was ever in doubt about the moral qual- 
ities of a letter. It has been always known that he 
who endeavours to please must appear pleased, and 
he who would not provoke rudeness must not prac- 
tise it. But the question among those who establish 
rules for an epistolary performance is how gaiety or 
civility may be properly expressed; as among the 
criticks in history it is not contested whether truth 

249 


THE RAMBLER 


ought to be preserved, but by what mode of diction 
it is best adorned. 

As letters are written on all subjects, in all states 
of mind, they cannot be properly reduced to settled 
rules, or described by any single characteristick ; 
and we may safely disentangle our minds from 
critical embarrassments, by determining that a let- 
ter has no peculiarity but its form, and that nothing 
is to be refused admission, which would be proper 
in any other method of treating the same subject. 
The qualities of the epistolary style most frequently 
required, are ease and simplicity, an even flow of 
unlaboured diction, and an artless arrangement of 
obvious sentiments. But these directions are no 
sooner applied to use, than their scantiness and im- 
perfection become evident. Letters are written to 
the great and to the mean, to the learned and the 
ignorant, at rest and in distress, in sport and in pas- 
sion. Nothing can be more improper than ease and 
laxity of expression, when the importance of the 
subject impresses solicitude, or the dignity of the 
person exacts reverence. 

That letters should be written with strict con- 
formity to nature is true, because nothing but 
conformity to nature can make any composition 
beautiful or just. But it is natural to depart from 
familiarity of language upon occasions not familiar. 
Whatever elevates the sentiments will consequently 
raise the expression; whatever fills us with hope or 
terrour, will produce some perturbation of images 
and some figurative distortions of phrase. Wherever 

250 


THE RAMBLER 


we are studious to please, we are afraid of trusting 
our first thoughts, and endeavour to recommend our 
opinion by studied ornaments, accuracy of method, 
and elegance of style. 

If the personages of the comick scene be al- 
lowed by Horace to raise their language in the 
transports of anger to the turgid vehemence of 
tragedy, the epistolary writer may likewise with- 
out censure comply with the varieties of his mat- 
ter. If great events are to be related, he may 
with all the solemnity of an historian deduce them 
from their causes, connect them with their concom- 
itants, and trace them to their consequences. If a 
disputed position is to be established, or a remote 
principle to be investigated, he may detail his 
reasonings with all the nicety of syllogistick method. 
If a menace is to be averted, or a benefit implored, 
he may, without any violation of the edicts of 
criticism, call every power of rhetorick to his assist- 
ance, and try every inlet at which love or pity 
enters the heart. 

Letters that have no other end than the enter- 
tainment of the correspondents are more properly 
regulated by critical precepts, because the matter 
and style are equally arbitrary, and rules are more 
necessary, as there is a larger power of choice. In 
letters-of this kind, some conceive art graceful, and 
others think negligence amiable; some model them 
by the sonnet, and will allow them no means of 
delighting but the soft lapse of calm mellifluence; 
others adjust them by the epigram, and expect 

251 


THE RAMBLER 


pointed sentences and forcible periods. The one 
party considers exemption from faults as the height 
of excellence, the other looks upon neglect of ex- 
cellence as the most disgusting fault; one avoids 
censure, the other aspires to praise; one is always 
in danger of insipidity, the other continually on the 
brink of affectation. | 

When the subject has no intrinsick dignity, it 
must necessarily owe its attractions to artificial em- 
bellishments, and may catch at all advantages which 
the art of writing can supply. He that, like Pliny, 
sends his friend a portion for his daughter, will, 
without Pliny’s eloquence or address, find means 
of exciting gratitude, and securing acceptance; but 
he that has no present to make but a garland, a 
riband, or some petty curiosity, must endeavour to 
recommend it by his manner of giving it. 

The purpose for which letters are written when 
no intelligence is communicated, or business trans- 
acted, is to preserve in the minds of the absent 
either love or esteem: to excite love we must impart 
pleasure, and to raise esteem we must discover 
abilities. Pleasure will generally be given, as abilities 
are displayed by scenes of imagery, points of con- 
ceit, unexpected sallies, and artful compliments. — 
Trifles always require exuberance of ornament; the 
building which has no strength can be valued only 
for the grace of its decorations. The pebble must be 
polished with care, which hopes to be valued as a 
diamond; and words ought surely to be laboured, 
when they are intended to stand for things. 

252 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 153. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1751 


Turba Remi? Sequitur Fortunam, ut semper, et odit 
Damnatos. Juv. Sat. x. 73. 


The fickle crowd with fortune comes and goes; 
Wealth still finds followers, and misfortune foes. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


HERE are occasions on which all apology is 

rudeness. He that has an unwelcome message 
to deliver, may give some proof of tenderness and 
delicacy, by a ceremonial introduction and gradual 
discovery, because the mind, upon which the weight 
of sorrow is to fall, gains time for the collection of 
its powers; but nothing is more absurd than to 
delay the communication of pleasure, to torment 
curiosity by impatience, and to delude hope by 
anticipation. 

I shall therefore forbear the arts by which corres- 
pondents generally secure admission, for I have too 
long remarked the power of vanity, to doubt that I 
shall be read by you with a disposition to approve, 
when I declare that my narrative has no other ten- 
dency than to illustrate and corroborate your own 
_ observations. 

I was the second son of a gentleman, whose patri- 
mony had been wasted by a long succession of 
squanderers, till he was unable to support any of his 
children, except his heir, in the hereditary dignity 
of idleness. Being therefore obliged to employ that 
part of life in study which my progenitors had 

253 


THE RAMBLER 


devoted to the hawk and hound, I was in my 
eighteenth year despatched to the university, with- 
out any rural honours. I had never killed a single 
woodcock, nor partaken one triumph over a con- 
quered fox. 

At the university I continued to enlarge my 
acquisitions with little envy of the noisy happiness 
which my elder brother had the fortune to enjoy; 
and, having obtained my degree, retired to consider 
at leisure to what profession I should confine that 
application which had hitherto been dissipated in 
general knowledge. To deliberate upon a choice 
which custom and honour forbid to be retracted, is 
certainly reasonable; yet to let loose the attention 
equally to the advantages and inconveniences of 
every employment is not without danger; new mo- 
tives are every moment operating on every side; 
and mechanicks have long ago discovered, that 
contrariety of equal attractions is equivalent to rest. 

While I was thus trifling in uncertainty, an old 
adventurer, who had been once the intimate friend 
of my father, arrived from the Indies with a large 
fortune; which he had so much harassed himself in 
obtaining, that sickness and infirmity left him no 
other desire than to die in his native country. His 
wealth easily procured him an invitation to pass his 
life with us; and, being incapable of any amusement 
but conversation, he necessarily became familiarized 
to me, whom he found studious and domestick. 
Pleased with an opportunity of imparting my knowl- 
edge, and eager of any intelligence that might in- 

254 


THE RAMBLER 


crease it, I delighted his curiosity with historical 
narratives and explications of nature, and gratified 
his vanity by inquiries after the products of distant 
countries, and the customs of their inhabitants. 

My brother saw how much I advanced in the 
favour of our guest, who, being without heirs, was 
naturally expected to enrich the family of his friend, 
but never attempted to alienate me, nor to ingra- 
tiate himself. He was, indeed, little qualified to so- 
licit the affection of a traveller, for the remissness 
of his education had left him without any rule of 
action but his present humour. He often forsook 
the old gentleman in the midst of an adventure, 
because the horn sounded in the court-yard, and 
would have lost an opportunity, not only of know- 
ing the history, but sharing the wealth of the mogul, 
for the trial of a new pointer, or the sight of a 
horse-race. 

It was therefore not long before our new friend 
declared his intention of bequeathing to me the 
profits of his commerce, as the only man in the 
family by whom he could expect them to be ra- 
tionally enjoyed. This distinction drew upon me the 
envy not only of my brother but my father. 

As no man is willing to believe that he suffers 
by his own fault, they imputed the preference which 
I had obtained to adulatory compliances, or malig- 
nant calumnies. To no purpose did I call upon my 
patron to attest my innocence, for who will believe 
what he wishes to be false? In the heat of disap- 
pomintment they forced their inmate by repeated 

255 


THE RAMBLER 


insults to depart from the house, and I was soon, 
by the same treatment, obliged to follow him. 

He chose his residence in the confines of Lon- 
don, where rest, tranquillity, and medicine, restored 
him to part of the health which he had lost. I 
pleased myself with perceiving that I was not likely 
to obtain the immediate possession of wealth which 
no labour of mine had contributed to acquire; and 
that he, who had thus distinguished me, might hope 
to end his life without a total frustration of those 
blessings, which, whatever be their real value, he 
had sought with so much diligence, and purchased 
with so many vicissitudes of danger and fatigue. 

He, indeed, left me no reason to repine at his 
recovery, for he was willing to accustom me early 
to the use of money, and set apart for my expenses 
such a revenue as I had scarcely dared to image. 
I can yet congratulate myself that fortune has 
seen her golden cup once tasted without inebria- 
tion. Neither my modesty nor prudence was over- 
whelmed by affluence; my elevation was without 
insolence, and my expense without profusion. EKm- 
ploying the influence which money always confers, 
to the improvement of my understanding, I mingled 
in parties of gaiety, and in conferences of learning, 
appeared in every place where instruction was to be 
found, and imagined that, by ranging through all 
the diversities of life, | had acquainted myself fully 
with human nature, and learned all that was to be 
known of the ways of men. 

It happened, however, that I soon discovered how 

256 


THE RAMBLER 


much was wanted to the completion of my knowl- 
edge, and found that, according to Seneca’s remark, 
I had hitherto seen the world but on one side. My 
patron’s confidence in his increase of strength 
tempted him to carelessness and irregularity; he 
caught a fever by riding in the rain, of which he 
died delirious on the third day. I buried him with- 
out any of the heir’s affected grief or secret exulta- 
tion; then preparing to take a legal possession of 
his fortune, I opened his closet, where I found a 
will, made at his first arrival, by which my father 
was appointed the chief inheritor, and nothing was 
left me but a legacy sufficient to support me in the 
prosecution of my studies. 

I had not yet found such charms in prosperity as 
to continue it by any acts of forgery or injustice, 
and made haste to inform my father of the riches 
which had been given him, not by the preference 
of kindness, but by the delays of indolence, and 
cowardice of age. The hungry family flew like 
vultures on their prey, and soon made my disap- 
pointment publick, by the tumult of their claims, 
and the splendour of their sorrow. 

It was now my part to consider how I should 
repair the disappointment. I could not but triumph 
in my long list of friends, which comprised almost 
every name that power or knowledge entitled to 
eminence; and, in the prospect of the innumerable 
roads to honour and preferment, which had I laid 
open to myself by the wise use of temporary riches, 
I believed nothing necessary but that I should con- 

Vou. 3—17 257 > 


THE RAMBLER 


tinue that acquaintance to which I had been so 
readily admitted, and which had hitherto been 
cultivated on both sides with equal ardour. 

Full of these expectations, I one morning ordered 
a chair, with an intention to make my usual circle 
of morning visits. Where I first stopped I saw two 
footmen lolling at the door, who told me, without 
any change of posture, or collection of countenance, 
that their master was at home, and suffered me to 
open the inner door without assistance. I found my 
friend standing, and, as I was tattling with my for- 
mer freedom, was formally entreated to sit down; 
but did not stay to be favoured with any further 
condescensions. 

My next experiment was made at the levee of a 
statesman, who received me with an embrace of 
tenderness, that he might with more decency pub- 
lish my change of fortune to the sycophants about 
him. After he had enjoyed the triumph of con- 
dolence, he turned to a wealthy stock-jobber, and 
left me exposed to the scorn of those who had lately 
courted my notice, and solicited my interest. 

I was then set down at the door of another, who, 
upon my entrance, advised me, with great solem- 
nity, to think of some settled provision for life. I 
left him, and hurried away to an old friend, who 
professed himself unsusceptible of any impressions 
from prosperity or misfortune, and begged that he 
might see me when he was more at leisure. 

Of sixty-seven doors, at which I knocked in the 
first week after my appearance in a mourning dress, 

258 


THE RAMBLER 


I was denied admission at forty-six; was suffered at 
fourteen to wait in the outer room till business was 
despatched; at four, was entertained with a few 
questions about the weather; at one, heard the 
footman rated for bringing my name; and at two 
was informed, in the flow of casual conversation, 
how much a man of rank degrades himself by mean 
company. 

My curiosity now led me to try what reception 
I should find among the ladies; but I found that 
my patron had carried all my powers of pleasing to 
the grave. I had formerly been celebrated as a wit, 
and not perceiving any languor in my imagination, 
I essayed to revive that gaiety which had hitherto 
broken out involuntarily before my sentences were 
finished. My remarks were now heard with a steady 
countenance, and if a girl happened to give way to 
habitual merriment, her forwardness was repressed 
with a frown by her mother or her aunt. 

Wherever I come I scatter infirmity and disease; 
every lady whom I meet in the Mall is too weary 
to walk; all whom I entreat to sing are troubled 
with colds: if I propose cards, they are afflicted 
with the head-ache; if I invite them to the gardens, 
they cannot bear a crowd. 

All this might be endured; but there is a class of 
mortals who think my understanding impaired with 
my fortune, exalt themselves to the dignity of ad- 
vice, and, whenever we happen to meet, presume to 
prescribe my conduct, regulate my economy, and 
direct my pursuits. Another race, equally imperti- 

259 


THE RAMBLER 


nent and equally despicable, are every moment 
recommending to me an attention to my interest, 
and think themselves entitled, by their superior 
prudence, to reproach me if I speak or move without 
regard to profit. 

Such, Mr. Rambler, is the power of wealth, that 
it commands the ear of greatness and the eye of 
beauty, gives spirit to the dull, and authority to the 
timorous, and leaves him from whom it departs, 
without virtue and without understanding, the sport 
of caprice, the scoff of insolence, the slave of 


meanness, and the pupil of ignorance. 
I am, &c. 


No. 154. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1751 





Tibi res antique laudis et artis 
Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes. 
Vir. Geo. ii. 174. 


For thee my tuneful accents will I raise, 
And treat of arts disclos’d in ancient days; 
Once more unlock for thee the sacred spring. Drypen. 


HE direction of Aristotle to those that study 

politicks, is first to examine and understand 
what has been written by the ancients upon govern- 
ment; then to cast their eyes round upon the world, 
and consider by what causes the prosperity of com- 
munities is visibly influenced, and why some are 
worse, and others better administered. 

The same method must be pursued by him who 
hopes to become eminent in any other part of 
knowledge. The first task is to search books, the 
next to contemplate nature. He must first possess 

260 


THE RAMBLER 


himself of the intellectual treasures which the dili- 
gence of former ages has accumulated, and then 
endeavour to increase them by his own collections. 

The mental disease of the present generation, is 
impatience of study, contempt of the great masters | ~~ 
of ancient wisdom, and a disposition to rely wholly 
upon unassisted genius and natural sagacity. The 
wits of these happy days have discovered a way to 
fame, which the dull caution of our laborious ances- 
tors durst never attempt; they cut the knots of 
sophistry which it was formerly the business of va 
years to untie, solve difficulties by sudden irradia-| \~ 
tions of intelligence, and comprehend long processes | 
of argument by immediate intuition. 

Men who have flattered themselves into this 
opinion of their own abilities, look down on all who 
waste their lives over books, as a race of inferior 
beings, condemned by nature to perpetual pupilage, 
and fruitlessly endeavouring to remedy their bar- 
renness by incessant cultivation, or succour their 
feebleness by subsidiary strength. They presume 
that none would be more industrious than they, if 
they were not more sensible of deficiencies; and 
readily conclude, that he who places no confidence 
in his own powers, owes his modesty only to his 
weakness. 

It is however certain, that no estimate is more in 
danger of erroneous calculations than those by 
which a man computes the force of his own genius. 

It generally happens at our entrance into the world, 
that, by the natural attraction of similitude, we as- 
261 


THE RAMBLER 


sociate with men like ourselves, young, sprightly, 
and ignorant, and rate our accomplishments by 
comparison with theirs; when we have once ob- 
tained an acknowledged superiority over our ac- 
quaintances, imagination and desire easily extend 
it over the rest of mankind, and if no accident 
forces us into new emulations, we grow old, and die 
in admiration of ourselves. 

Vanity, thus confirmed in her dominion, readily 
listens to the voice of idleness, and sooths the slum- 
ber of life with continual dreams of excellence and 
greatness. A man, elated by confidence in his natu- 
ral vigour of fancy and sagacity of conjecture, soon 
concludes that he already possesses whatever toil 
and inquiry can confer. He then listens with eager- 
ness to the wild objections which folly has raised 
against the common means of improvement; talks 
of the dark chaos of indigested knowledge; de- 
scribes the mischievous effects of heterogeneous 
sciences fermenting in the mind; relates the blun- 
ders of lettered ignorance; expatiates on the heroick 
merit of those who deviate from prescription, or 
shake off authority; and gives vent to the inflations 
of his heart by declaring that he owes nothing to 
pedants and universities. 

All these pretensions, however confident, are very 
often vain. The laurels which superficial acuteness 
gains in triumphs over ignorance unsupported by 
vivacity, are observed by Locke to be lost, when- 
ever real learning and rational diligence appear 
against her; the sallies of gaiety are soon repressed 

262 


THE RAMBLER 


by calm confidence; and the artifices of subtilty 
are readily detected by those, who, having carefully 
studied the question, are not easily confounded or 
surprised. 

But, though the contemner of books had neither 
been deceived by others nor himself, and was really 
born with a genius surpassing the ordinary abilities 
of mankind; yet surely such gifts of Providence 
may be more properly urged as incitements to 
labour, than encouragements to negligence. He 
that neglects the culture of ground naturally fer- 
tile, is more shamefully culpable, than he whose 
field would scarcely recompense his husbandry. 

Cicero remarks, that not to know what has been 
transacted in former times, is to continue always a 
child. If no use is made of the labours of past ages, _ 
the world must remain always in the infancy of |. 
knowledge. The discoveries of every man must ter- | 
minate in his own advantage, and the studies of 
every age be employed on questions which the past 
generation had discussed and determined. We may 
with as little reproach borrow science as manufac- 
tures from our ancestors; and it is as rational to live 
in caves till our own hands have erected a palace, 
as to reject all knowledge of architecture which our 
understandings will not supply. 

To the strongest and quickest mind it is far easier 
to learn than to invent. The principles of arithmetick 
and geometry may be comprehended by a close at- 
tention in a few days; yet who can flatter himself 
that the study of a long life would have enabled him 

263 


THE RAMBLER 


to discover them, when he sees them yet unknown 
to so many nations, whom he cannot suppose less 
liberally endowed with natural reason, than the 
Grecians or Egyptians ? 

Every science was thus far advanced towards per- 
fection, by the emulous diligence of contemporary 
students, and the gradual discoveries of one age im- 
proving on another. Sometimes unexpected flashes 
of instruction were struck out by the fortuitous col- 
lision of happy incidents, or an involuntary con- 
currence of ideas, in which the philosopher to whom 
they happened had no other merit than that of 
knowing their value, and transmitting, unclouded, 
to posterity, that light which had been kindled by 
causes out of his power. The happiness of these 
casual illuminations no man can promise to himself, 
because no endeavours can procure them; and there- 
fore whatever be our abilities or application, we 
must submit to learn from others what perhaps 
would have lain hid for ever from human penetra- 
tion, had not some remote inquiry brought it to 
view; as treasures are thrown up by the ploughman 
and the digger in the rude exercise of their common 
occupations. 

The man whose genius qualifies him for great 
undertakings, must at least be content to learn from 
books the present state of human knowledge; that 
he may not ascribe to himself the invention of arts 
generally known; weary his attention with experi- 
ments of which the event has been long registered ; 
and waste, in attempts which have already suc- 

264 


THE RAMBLER 


ceeded or miscarried, that time which might have 
been spent with usefulness and honour upon new 
undertakings. 

But, though the study of books is necessary, it 
is not sufficient to constitute literary eminence. 
He that wishes to be counted among the benefac- 
tors of posterity, must add by his own toil to the 
acquisitions of his ancestors, and secure his mem- 
ory from neglect by some valuable improvement. 
This can only be effected by looking out upon the 
wastes of the intellectual world, and extending the 
power of learning over regions yet undisciplined 
and barbarous; or by surveying more exactly our 
ancient dominions, and driving ignorance from the 
fortresses and retreats where she skulks undetected 
and undisturbed. Every science has its difficulties, 
which yet call for solution before we attempt new 
systems of knowledge; as every country has its 
forests and marshes, which it would be wise to cul- 
tivate and drain, before distant colonies are projec- 
ted as a necessary discharge of the exuberance of 
inhabitants. 

No man ever yet became great by imitation. 
Whatever hopes for the veneration of mankind 
must have invention in the design or the execu- 
tion; either the effect must itself be new, or the 
means by which it is produced. Either truths 
hitherto unknown must be discovered, or those 
which are already known enforced by stronger evi- 
dence, facilitated by clearer method, or elucidated 
by brighter illustrations. 

265 


THE RAMBLER 


Fame cannot spread wide or endure long that is 
not rooted in nature, and manured by art. That 
which hopes to resist the blast of malignity, and 
stand firm against the attacks of time, must con- 
tain in itself some original principle of growth. 
The reputation which arises from the detail or 
transportation of borrowed sentiments, may spread 
for awhile, like ivy on the rind of antiquity, but will 
be torn away by accident or contempt, and suffered 
to rot unheeded on the ground. 


No. 155. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1751 





Steriles transmisimus annos, 
Hee evi mihi prima dies, hee limina vite. Srav. i. 362. 


— Our barren years are past; 
Be this of life the first, of sloth the last. Expuinston. 


O weakness of the human mind has more fre- 

quently incurred animadversion, than the neg- 
ligence with which men overlook their own faults, 
however flagrant, and the easiness with which they 
pardon them, however frequently repeated. 

It seems generally believed, that as the eye can- 
not see itself, the mind has no faculties by which 
it can contemplate its own state, and that therefore 
we have not means of becoming acquainted with 
our real characters; an opinion which, like innumer- 
able other postulates, an inquirer finds himself in- 
clined to admit upon very little evidence, because 
it affords a ready solution of many difficulties. It 
will explain why the greatest abilities frequently 

266 


THE RAMBLER 


fail to promote the happiness of those who possess 
them; why those who can distinguish with the ut- 
most nicety the boundaries of vice and virtue, suffer 
them to be confounded in their own conduct; why 
the active and vigilant resign their affairs implicitly 
to the management of others; and why the cautious 
and fearful make hourly approaches towards ruin, 
without one sigh of solicitude or struggle for escape. 

When a position teems thus with commodious 
consequences, who can without regret confess it to 
be false ? Yet it is certain that declaimers have in- 
dulged a disposition to describe the dominion of 
the passions as extended beyond the limits that 
nature assigned. Self-love is often rather arrogant 
than blind; it does not hide our faults from our- 
selves, but persuades us that they escape the notice 
of others, and disposes us to resent censures lest we 
should confess them to be just. We are secretly 
conscious of defects and vices, which we hope to 
conceal from the publick eye, and please ourselves 
with innumerable impostures, by which, in reality, 
nobody is deceived. 

In proof of the dimness of our internal sight, or 
the general inability of man to determine rightly 
concerning his own character, it is common to 
urge the success of the most absurd and incredible 
flattery, and the resentment always raised by ad- 
vice, however soft, benevolent, and reasonable. 
But flattery, if its operation be nearly examined, 
will be found to owe its acceptance, not to our ig- 
norance, but knowledge of our failures, and to 

267 


THE RAMBLER 


delight us rather as it consoles our wants than dis- 
plays our possessions. He that shall solicit the fa- 
vour of his patron by praising him for qualities 
which he can find in himself, will be defeated by 
the more daring panegyrist who enriches him with 
adscititious excellence. Just praise is only a debt, 
but flattery is a present. The acknowledgment of 
those virtues on which conscience congratulates 
us, is a tribute that we can at any time exact with 
confidence; but the celebration of those which we 
only feign, or desire without any vigorous endeav- 
ours to attain them, is received as a confession of 
sovereignty over regions never conquered, as a 
favourable decision of disputable claims, and is 
more welcome as it is more gratuitous. 

Advice is offensive, not because it lays us open 
to unexpected regret, or convicts us of any fault 
which had escaped our notice, but because it shews 
us that we are known to others as well as to our- 
‘selves; and the officious monitor is persecuted with 
hatred, not because his accusation is false, but be- 
cause he assumes that superiority which we are not 
willing to grant him, and has dared to detect what 
we desired to conceal. 

For this reason advice is commonly ineffectual. 
If those who follow the call of their desires, with- 
out inquiry whither they are going, had deviated 
ignorantly from the paths of wisdom, and were 
rushing upon dangers unforeseen, they would read- 
ily listen to information that recalls them from their 
errours, and catch the first alarm by which destruc- 

268 


THE RAMBLER 


tion or infamy is denounced. Few that wander in the 
wrong way mistake it for the right, they only find 
it more smooth and flowery, and indulge their own 
choice rather than approve it: therefore few are per- 
suaded to quit it by admonition or reproof, since it 
impresses no new conviction, nor confers any powers 
of action or resistance. He that is gravely informed 
how soon profusion will annihilate his fortune, hears 
with little advantage what he knew before, and 
catches at the next occasion of expense, because 
advice has no force to suppress his vanity. He that 
is told how certainly intemperance will hurry him 
to the grave, runs with his usual speed to a new 
course of luxury, because his reason is not invigor- 
ated, nor his appetite weakened. 

The mischief of flattery is, not that it persuades 
any man that he is what he is not, but that it sup- 
presses the influence of honest ambition, by raising 
an opinion that honour may be gained without the 
toil of merit; and the benefit of advice arises com- 
monly not from any new light imparted to the 
mind, but from the discovery which it affords of the 
publick suffrages. He that could withstand con- 
science is frighted at infamy, and shame prevails 
when reason is defeated. 

As we all know our own faults, and know them 
commonly with many aggravations which human 
perspicacity cannot discover, there is, perhaps, no 
man, however hardened by impudence or dissipated 
by levity, sheltered by hypocrisy or blasted by dis- 
grace, who does not intend some time to review his 

269 


THE RAMBLER 


conduct, and to regulate the remainder of his life 
by the laws of virtue. New temptations indeed 
attack him, new invitations are offered by pleasure 
and interest, and the hour of reformation is always 
delayed; every delay gives vice another opportunity 
of fortifying itself by habit; and the change of 
manners, though sincerely intended and rationally 
planned, is referred to the time when some craving 
passion shall be fully gratified, or some powerful 
allurement cease its importunity. 

Thus procrastination is accumulated on procras- 
tination, and one impediment succeeds another, till 
age shatters our resolution, or death intercepts the 
project of amendment. Such is often the end of 
salutary purposes, after they have long delighted 
the imagination, and appeased that disquiet which 
every mind feels from known misconduct, when 
the attention is not diverted by business or by 
pleasure. 

Nothing surely can be more unworthy of a rea- 
sonable nature, than to continue in a state so oppo- 
site to real happiness, as that all the peace of solitude, 
and felicity of meditation, must arise from resolu- 
tions of forsaking it. Yet the world will often afford 
examples of men, who pass months and years in a 
continual war with their own convictions, and are 
daily dragged by habit, or betrayed by passion, into 
practices which they closed and opened their eyes 
with purposes to avoid ; purposes which, though set- 
tled on conviction, the first impulse of momentary 
desire totally overthrows. 

270 


THE RAMBLER 


The influence of custom is indeed such, that to 
conquer it will require the utmost efforts of fortitude 
and virtue; nor can I think any man more worthy 
of veneration and renown, than those who have 
burst the shackles of habitual vice. This victory, 
however, has different degrees of glory as of diffi- 
culty; it is more heroick as the objects of guilty 
gratification are more familiar, and the recurrence 
of solicitation more frequent. He that, from experi- 
ence of the folly of ambition, resigns his offices, may 
set himself free at once from temptation to squan- 
der his life in courts, because he cannot regain his 
former station. He who is enslaved by an amorous 
passion, may quit his tyrant in disgust, and absence 
will, without the help of reason, overcome by de- 
grees the desire of returning. But those appetites to 
which every place affords their proper object, and 
which require no preparatory measures or gradual 
advances, are more tenaciously adhesive; the wish 
is so near the enjoyment, that compliance often 
precedes consideration, and, before the powers of 
reason can be summoned, the time for employing 
them is past. 

Indolence is therefore one of the vices from which 
those whom it once infects are seldom reformed. 
Every other species of luxury operates upon some 
appetite that is quickly satiated, and requires some 
concurrence of art or accident which every place 
will not supply; but the desire of ease acts equally 
at all hours, and the longer it is indulged is the 
more increased. To do nothing is in every man’s 

271 


THE RAMBLER 


power; we can never want an opportunity of omit- 
ting duties. The lapse to indolence is soft and im- 
perceptible, because it is only a mere cessation of 
activity ; but the return to diligence is difficult, be- 
cause it implies a change from rest to motion, from 
privation to reality: 

————Facilis descensus Averni: 

Noctes atque dies patet atri janua ditis; 


Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras, : 
Hoc opus, hic labor est. Vir. Ain. Lib. vi. 126. 





The gates of hell are open night and day; 

Smooth the descent, and easy is the way; 

But to return, and view the cheerful skies, 

In this the task and mighty labour lies. Dryven. 
Of this vice, as of all others, every man who in- 
dulges it is conscious: we all know our own state, 
if we could be induced to consider it, and it might 
perhaps be useful to the conquest of all these en- 
snarers of the mind, if, at certain stated days, life 
was reviewed. Many things necessary are omitted, 
because we vainly imagine that they may be always 
performed; and what cannot be done without pain 
will for ever be delayed, if the time of doing it be 
left unsettled. No corruption is great but by long 
negligence, which can scarcely prevail in a mind 
regularly and frequently awakened by periodical 
remorse. He that thus breaks his life into parts, will 
find in himself a desire to distinguish every stage 
of his existence by some improvement, and delight 
himself with the approach of the day of recollection, 
as of the time which is to begin a new series of 
virtue and felicity. 

272 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 156. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1751 


Nunquam aliud Natura, aliud Sapientia dicit. 
Juv. Sat. xiv. 321. 


For Wisdom ever echoes Nature’s voice. 


VERY government, say the politicians, is per- 

petually degenerating towards corruption, from 
which it must be rescued at certain periods by the 
resuscitation of its first principles, and the re-estab- 
lishment of its original constitution. Every animal 
body, according to the methodick physicians, is, by 
the predominance of some exuberant quality, con- 
tinually declining towards disease and death, which 
must be obviated by a seasonable reduction of the 
peccant humour to the just equipoise which health 
requires. 

In the same manner the studies of mankind, all 
at least which, not being subject to rigorous demon- 
stration, admit the influence of fancy and caprice, 
are perpetually tending to errour and confusion. 
Of the great principles of truth which the first 
speculatists discovered, the simplicity is embarrassed 
by ambitious additions, or the evidence obscured 
by inaccurate argumentation; and as they descend 
from one succession of writers to another, like ight 
transmitted from room to room, they lose their 
strength and splendour, and fade at last in total 
evanescence. 

The systems of learning therefore must be some- 
times reviewed, complications analyzed into prin- 


ciples, and knowledge disentangled from opinion. 
Vor. 3—18 273 


THE RAMBLER 


It is not always possible, without a close inspection, 
to separate the genuine shoots of consequential rea- 
soning, which grow out of some radical postulate, 
from the branches which art has ingrafted on it. 
The accidental prescriptions of authority, when time 
has procured them veneration, are often confounded 
with the laws of nature, and those rules are sup- 
posed coéval with reason, of which the first rise 
cannot be discovered. 

Criticism has sometimes permitted fancy to dic- 
tate the laws by which fancy ought to be restrained, 
and fallacy to perplex the principles by which fal- 
lacy is to be detected ; her superintendence of others 
has betrayed her to negligence of herself; and, like 
the ancient Scythians, by extending her conquests 
over distant regions, she has left her throne vacant 
to her slaves. 

Among the laws of which the desire of extend- 
ing authority, or ardour of promoting knowledge, 
has prompted the prescription, all which writers 
have received, had not the same original right to 
our regard. Some are to be considered as funda- 
mental and indispensable, others only as useful and 
convenient; some as dictated by reason and neces- 
sity, others as enacted by despotick antiquity ; some 
as invincibly supported by their conformity to the 
order of nature and operations of the intellect; 
others as formed by accident, or instituted by ex- 
ample, and therefore always liable to dispute and 
alteration. 

That many rules have been advanced without 

274 


THE RAMBLER 


consulting nature or reason, we cannot but suspect, 
when we find it peremptorily decreed by the ancient 
masters, that only three speaking personages should 
appear at once upon the stage ; a law, which, as the 
variety and intricacy of modern plays has made it 
impossible to be observed, we now violate with- 
out scruple, and, as experience proves, without 
inconvenience. 

The original of this precept was merely acci- 
dental. Tragedy was a monody, or solitary song in 
honour of Bacchus, improved afterwards into a dia- 
logue by the addition of another speaker; but the 
ancients, remembering that the tragedy was at first 
pronounced only by one, durst not for some time 
venture beyond two; at last,. when custom and 
impunity had made them daring, they extended 
their liberty to the admission of three, but re- 
strained themselves by a critical edict from further 
exorbitance. 

By what accident the number of acts was limited 
to five, I know not that any author has informed 
us; but certainly it is not determined by any neces- 
sity arising either from the nature of action, or 
propriety of exhibition. An act is only the repre- 
sentation of such a part of the business of the play 
as proceeds in an unbroken tenour, or without any 
intermediate pause. Nothing is more evident than 
that of every real, and by consequence of every dra- 
matick action, the intervals may be more or fewer 
than five; and indeed the rule is upon the English 
stage every day broken in effect, without any other 

275 


THE RAMBLER 


mischief than that which arises from an absurd en- 
deavour to observe it in appearance. Whenever the 
scene is shifted the act ceases, since some time is 
necessarily supposed to elapse while the personages 
of the drama change their place. 

With no greater right to our obedience have the 
criticks. confined the dramatick action to a certain 
number of hours. Probability requires that the time 
of action should approach somewhat nearly to that 
of exhibition, and those plays will always be thought 
most happily conducted which crowd the greatest 
variety into the least space. But since it will fre- 
quently happen that some delusion must be admit- 
ted, I know not where the limits of imagination can 
be fixed. It is rarely observed that minds, not pre- 
possessed by mechanical criticism, feel any offence 
from the extension of the intervals between the 
acts; nor can I conceive it absurd or impossible, 
that he who can multiply three hours into twelve 
or twenty-four, might imagine with equal ease a 
greater number. 

I know not whether he that professes to regard 
no other laws than those of nature, will not be in- 
clined to receive tragi-comedy to his protection, 
whom, however generally condemned, her own 
laurels have hitherto shaded from the fulminations 
of criticism. For what is there in the mingled drama 
which impartial reason can condemn? The con- 
nexion of important with trivial incidents, since it 
is not only common but perpetual in the world, 
may surely be allowed upon the stage, which pre- 

276 


THE RAMBLER 


tends only to be the mirror of life.! The impropriety 
of suppressing passions before we have raised them 
to the intended agitation, and of diverting the ex- 
pectation from an event which we keep suspended 
only to raise it, may be speciously urged. But will 
not experience shew this objection to be rather 
subtle than just ? Is it not certain that the tragick 
and comick affections have been moved alternately 
with equal force, and that no plays have oftener 
filled the eye with tears, and the breast with palpi- 
tation, than those which are variegated with inter- 
ludes of mirth ? 

I do not however think it safe to judge of works 
of genius merely by the event. The resistless vicis- 
situdes of the heart, this alternate prevalence of 
merriment and solemnity, may sometimes be more 
properly ascribed to the vigour of the writer than 
the justness of the design: and, instead of vindicat- 
ing tragi-comedy by the success of Shakspeare, we 
ought, perhaps, to pay new honours to that tran- 
scendent and unbounded genius that could preside 
over the passions in sport; who, to actuate the af- 
fections, needed not the slow gradation of common 
means, but could fill the heart with instantaneous 
jollity or sorrow, and vary our disposition as he 
changed his scenes. Perhaps the effects even of 
Shakspeare’s poetry might have been yet greater, 
had he not counteracted himself; and we might 
have been more interested in the distresses of his 
heroes, had we not been so frequently diverted by 
the jokes of his buffoons. 

277 


THE RAMBLER 


There are other rules more fixed and obligatory. 
It is necessary that of every play the chief action 
should be single; for since a play represents some 
transaction, through its regular maturation to its 
final event, two actions equally important must evi- 
dently constitute two plays. 

As the design of tragedy is to instruct by mov- 
ing the passions, it must always have a hero, a per- 
sonage apparently and incontestably superior to the 
rest, upon whom the attention may be fixed, and 
the anxiety suspended. For though, of two persons 
opposing each other with equal abilities and equal 
virtue, the auditor will inevitably, in time, choose 
his favourite, yet as that choice must be without 
any cogency of conviction, the hopes or fears which 
it raises will be faint and languid. Of two heroes 
acting in confederacy against a common enemy, 
the virtues or dangers will give little emotion, be- 
cause each claims our concern with the same right, 
and the heart lies at rest between equal motives. 

It ought to be the first endeavour of a writer to 
distinguish nature from custom; or that which is 
established because it is right, from that which is 
right only because it is established; that he may 
neither violate essential principles by a desire of 
novelty, nor debar himself from the attainment of 
beauties within his view, by aneedless fear of break- 
ing rules which no literary dictator had authority 
to enact. 


278 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 157. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1751 














0i aldas 
Fivetat, i} t dvdpas péya otverat 70 dvivyet. 
Hom. Il. Q', 44. 


Shame greatly hurts or greatly helps mankind. 
ELPHINsTON. 


TO THE RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


HOUGH one of your correspondents has pre- 

sumed to mention with some contempt that 
presence of attention and easiness of address, which 
the polite have long agreed to celebrate and esteem, 
yet I cannot be persuaded to think them unworthy 
of regard or cultivation; but am inclined to believe 
that, as we seldom value rightly what we have 
never known the misery of wanting, his judgment 
has been vitiated by his happiness; and that a 
natural exuberance of assurance has hindered him 
from discovering its excellence and use. 

This felicity, whether bestowed by constitution, 
or obtained by early habitudes, I can scarcely con- 
template without envy. I was bred under a man of 
learning in the country, who inculcated nothing but 
the dignity of knowledge, and the happiness of 
virtue. By frequency of admonition, and confidence 
of assertion, he prevailed upon me to believe, that 
the splendour of literature would always attract 
reverence, if not darkened by corruption. I there- 
fore pursued my studies with incessant industry, 
and avoided every thing which I had been taught 
to consider either as vicious or tending to vice, 

279 


THE RAMBLER 


because I regarded guilt and reproach as insepa- 
rably united, and thought a tainted reputation the 
greatest calamity. 

At the university, I found no reason for changing 
my opinion; for though many among my fellow 
students took the opportunity of a more remiss dis- 
cipline to gratify their passions; yet virtue preserved 
her natural superiority, and those who ventured to 
neglect, were not suffered to insult her. The am- 
bition of petty accomplishments found its way into 
the receptacles of learning, but was observed to 
seize commonly on those who either neglected the 
sciences or could not attain them; and I was there- 
fore confirmed in the doctrines of my old master, 
and thought nothing worthy of my care but the 
means of gaining or imparting knowledge. 

This purity of manners, and intenseness of appli- 
cation, soon extended my renown, and I was ap- 
plauded by those, whose opinion I then thought 
unlikely to deceive me, as a young man that gave 
uncommon hopes of future eminence. My perform- 
ances in time reached my native province, and my 
relations congratulated themselves upon the new 
honours that were added to their family. 

I returned home covered with academical laurels, 
and fraught with criticism and philosophy. The wit 
and the scholar excited curiosity, and my acquaint- 
ance was solicited by innumerable invitations. To 
please will always be the wish of benevolence, to 
be admired must be the constant aim of ambition; 
and I therefore considered myself as about to re- 

280 


THE RAMBLER 


ceive the reward of my honest labours, and to find 
the efficacy of learning and of virtue. 

The third day after my arrival I dined at the 
house of a gentleman who had summoned a multi- 
tude of his friends to the annual celebration of his 
wedding-day. I set forward with great exultation, 
and thought myself happy that I had an oppor- 
tunity of displaying my knowledge to so numerous 
an assembly. I felt no sense of my own insufficiency, 
till, going up stairs to the dining-room, I heard the 
mingled roar of obstreperous merriment. I was, how- 
ever, disgusted rather than terrified, and went for- 
ward without dejection. The whole company rose 
at my entrance; but when I saw so many eyes fixed 
at once upon me, I was blasted with a sudden im- 
becility, I was quelled by some nameless power 
which I found impossible to be resisted. My sight 
was dazzled, my cheeks glowed, my perceptions 
were confounded; I was harassed by the multitude 
of eager salutations, and returned the common 
civilities with hesitation and impropriety ; the sense 
of my own blunders increased my confusion, and, 
before the exchange of ceremonies allowed me to 
sit down, I was ready to sink under the oppression 
of surprise; my voice grew weak, and my knees 
trembled. 

The assembly then resumed their places, and I 
sat with my eyes fixed upon the ground. To the 
questions of curiosity, or the appeals of complais- 
ance, I could seldom answer but with negative 
monosyllables, or professions of ignorance; for the 

281 


THE RAMBLER 


subjects on which they conversed, were such as are 
seldom discussed in books, and were therefore out 
of my range of knowledge. At length an old clergy- 
man, who rightly conjectured the reason of my 
conciseness, relieved me by some questions about 
the present state of natural knowledge, and en- 
gaged me, by an appearance of doubt and oppo- 
sition, in the explication and defence of the 
Newtonian philosophy. 

The consciousness of my own abilities roused me 
from depression, and long familiarity with my sub- 
ject enabled me to discourse with ease and volu- 
bility ; but, however I might please myself, I found 
very little added by my demonstrations to the sat- 
isfaction of the company; and my antagonist, 
who knew the laws of conversation too well to 
detain their attention long upon an unpleasing 
topick, after he had commended my acuteness 
and comprehension, dismissed the controversy, 
and resigned me to my former insignificance and 
perplexity. 

After dinner, I received from the ladies, who had 
heard that I was a wit, an invitation to the tea- 
table. I congratulated myself upon an opportunity 
to escape from the company, whose gaiety began 
to be tumultuous, and among whom several hints 
had been dropped of the uselessness of universities, 
the folly of book-learning, and the awkwardness of 
scholars. To the ladies, therefore, I flew, as to a 
refuge from clamour, insult, and rusticity; but 
found my heart sink as I approached their apart- 

282 





THE RAMBLER 


ment, and was again disconcerted by the ceremonies 
of entrance, and confounded by the necessity of 
encountering so many eyes at once. 

When I sat down I considered that something 
pretty was always said to ladies, and resolved to re- 
cover my credit by some elegant observation or 
graceful compliment. I applied myself to the recol- 
lection of all that I had read or heard in praise of 
beauty, and endeavoured to accommodate some 
classical compliments to the present occasion. I sunk 
into profound meditation, revolved the characters 
of the heroines of old, considered whatever the 
poets have sung in their praise, and, after having 
borrowed and invented, chosen and rejected a thou- 
sand sentiments, which, if I had uttered them, 
would not have been understood, I was awakened 
from my dream of learned gallantry, by the servant 
who distributed the tea. 

There are not many situations more incessantly 
uneasy than that in which the man is placed who is 
watching an opportunity to speak, without courage 
to take it when it is offered, and who, though he re- 
solves to give a specimen of his abilities, always 
finds some reason or other for delaying it to the 
next minute. I was ashamed of silence, yet could 
find nothing to say of elegance or importance equal 
to my wishes. The ladies, afraid of my learning, 
thought themselves not qualified to propose any 
subject of prattle to a man so famous for dispute, 
and there was nothing on either side but impatience 
and vexation. 

283 


THE RAMBLER 


In this conflict of shame, as I was re-assembling 
my scattered sentiments, and, resolving to force my 
imagination to some sprightly sally, had just found 
a very happy compliment, by too much attention 
to my own meditations, I suffered the saucer to 
drop from my hand. The cup was broken, the lap- 
dog was scalded, a brocaded petticoat was stained, 
and the whole assembly was thrown into disorder. I 
now considered all hopes of reputation at an end, 
and while they were consoling and assisting one 
another, stole away in silence. 

The misadventures of this unhappy day are not 
yet at an end; I am afraid of meeting the meanest 
of them that triumphed over me in this state of 
stupidity and contempt, and feel the same terrours 
encroaching upon my heart at the sight of those 
who have once impressed them. Shame, above any 
other passion, propagates itself. Before those who 
have seen me confused, I can never appear without 
new confusion, and the remembrance of the weak- 
ness which I formerly discovered, hinders me from 
acting or speaking with my natural force. 

But is this misery, Mr. Rambler, never to cease; 
have I spent my life in study only to become the 
sport of the ignorant, and debarred myself from all 
the common enjoyments of youth to collect ideas 
which must sleep in silence, and form opinions 
which I must not divulge ? Inform me, dear Sir, by 
what means I may rescue my faculties from these 
shackles of cowardice, how I may rise to a level with 
my fellow-beings, recall myself from this languor 

284 


THE RAMBLER 


of involuntary subjection to the free exertion of my 
intellects, and add to the power of reasoning the 
liberty of speech. Tea esiea ee 


VERECUNDULUS. 


No. 158. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1751 


Grammatici certant, et adhuc sub judice lis est. 
Hor. Ar. Poet. 78. 





Criticks yet contend, 
And of their vain disputing find no end. FRANCIs. 


RITICISM, though dignified from the earliest 
ages by the labours of men eminent for know]l- 
edge and sagacity, and, since the revival of polite 
literature, the favourite study of European scholars, 
has not yet attained the certainty and stability of 
science. The rules hitherto received are seldom 
drawn from any settled principle or self-evident 
postulate, or adapted to the natural and invariable 
constitution of things; but will be found, upon ex- 
amination, the arbitrary edicts of legislators, author- 
ised only by themselves, who, out of various means 
by which the same end may be attained, selected 
such as happened to occur to their own reflection, 
and then, by a law which idleness and timidity were 
too willing to obey, prohibited new experiments of 
wit, restrained fancy from the indulgence of her in- 
nate inclination to hazard and adventure, and con- 
demned all future flights of genius to pursue the 

path of the Meonian eagle. 
This authority may be more justly opposed, as it 

285 


THE RAMBLER 


is apparently derived from them whom they en- 
deavour to control; for we owe few of the rules of 
writing to the acuteness of criticks, who have gen- 
erally no other merit than that, having read the 
works of great authors with attention, they have 
observed the arrangement of their matter, or the 
graces of their expression, and then expected honour 
and reverence for precepts which they never could 
have invented ; so that practice has introduced rules; 
rather than rules have directed practice. 

For this reason the laws of every species of writing 
have been settled by the ideas of him who first 
raised it to reputation, without inquiry whether his 
performances were not yet susceptible of improve- 
ment. The excellencies and faults of celebrated 
writers have been equally recommended to pos- 
terity; and, so far has blind reverence prevailed, 
that even the number of their books has been 
thought worthy of imitation. 

The imagination of the first authors of lyrick 
poetry was vehement and rapid, and their knowl- 
edge various and extensive. Living in an age when 
science had been little cultivated, and when the 
minds of their auditors, not being accustomed to 
accurate inspection, were easily dazzled by glaring 
ideas, they applied themselves to instruct, rather by 
short sentences and striking thoughts, than by regu- 
lar argumentation ; and, finding attention more suc- 
cessfully excited by sudden sallies and unexpected 
exclamations, than by the more artful and placid 
beauties of methodical deduction, they loosed their 

286 


THE RAMBLER 


genius to its own course, passed from one sentiment 
to another without expressing the intermediate 
ideas, and roved at large over the ideal world with 
such lightness and agility, that their footsteps are 
scarcely to be traced. 

From this accidental peculiarity of the ancient 
writers the criticks deduce the rules of lyrick poetry, 
which they have set free from all the laws by which 
other compositions are confined, and allow to neg- 
lect the niceties of transition, to start into remote 
digressions, and to wander without restraint from 
one scene of imagery to another. 

A writer of later times has, by the vivacity of 
his essays, reconciled mankind to the same licen- 
tiousness in short dissertations; and he therefore 
who wants skill to form a plan, or diligence to pur- 
sue it, needs only entitle his performance an essay, 
to acquire the right of heaping together the collec- 
tions of half his life without order, coherence, or 
propriety. 

In writing, as in life, faults are endured without 
disgust when they are associated with transcendent 
merit, and may be sometimes recommended to 
weak judgments by the lustre which they obtain 
from their union with excellence; but it is the busi- 
ness of those who presume to superintend the taste 
or morals of mankind, to separate delusive combi- 
nations and distinguish that which may be praised 
from that which can only be excused. As vices 
never promote happiness, though, when overpow- 
ered by more active and more numerous virtues, 

287 


THE RAMBLER 


they cannot totally destroy it; so confusion and 
irregularity produce no beauty, though they can- 
not always obstruct the brightness of genius and 
learning. To proceed from one truth to another, 
and connect distant propositions by regular conse- 
quences, is the great prerogative of man. Independ- 
ent and unconnected sentiments flashing upon the 
mind in quick succession, may, for a time, delight 
by their novelty, but they differ from systematical 
reasoning, as single notes from harmony, as glances 
of lightning from the radiance of the sun. 

When rules are thus drawn, rather from prece- 
dents than reason, there is danger not only from 
the faults of an author, but from the errours of 
those who criticise his works; since they may often 
mislead their pupils by false representations, as the 
Ciceronians of the sixteenth century were betrayed 
into barbarisms by corrupt copies of their darling 
writer. 

It is established at present, that the proémial 
lines of a poem, in which the general subject is pro- 
posed, must be void of glitter and embellishment. 
‘*'The first lines of Paradise Lost,’’ says Addison, 
**are perhaps as plain, simple, and unadorned, as 
any of the whole poem, in which particular the 
author has conformed himself to the example of 
Homer, and the precept of Horace.”’ 

This observation seems to have been made by an 
implicit adoption of the common opinion, without 
consideration either of the precept or example. Had 
Horace been consulted, he would have been found 

288 


THE RAMBLER 


to direct only what should be comprised in the 
proposition, not how it should be expressed; and 
to have commended Homer in opposition to a 
meaner poet, not for the gradual elevation of his 
diction, but the judicious expansion of his plan; for 
displaying unpromised events, not for producing 
unexpected elegancies. 


Speciosa dehine miracula promat; 
Antiphaten, Scyllamque, et cum Cyclope Charybdim. 
Hor. Ar. Poet. 146. 
But from a cloud of smoke he breaks to light, 
And pours his specious miracles to sight; 
Antiphates his hideous feast devours, 
Charybdis barks, and Polyphemus roars. Francis. 





If the exordial verses of Homer be compared 
with the rest of the poem, they will not appear re- 
markable for plainness or simplicity, but rather 
eminently adorned and illuminated: 

"Avdpd poe &vvere, Modoa, roddtporoy, bs pdha rodha 
IhéyyOn, exet Tpotns iepov xrodted poy exepae: 
Hoddy © av3padnwy ev dotea, xat voov eyvw: 
Toda © bf ev névtw radSev Gdyea by xata Supov, 
*Apvipevos Hy te Puyjy xat voortoy Etaipwv 
AIX 060 DS etdpous eppbcarto, léusvds mep* 
Abtaév yap opetépyow atacdadigow dioyto: 
Nyxtot, ot xata Bods breptovos ’Hedioro 

*Hodtov abtap 6 totow adetheto vootipoy juap’ 
Toy Gpo%ev ye, Sea, Sbyatep Atos, etre xak Huiv. 
The man, for wisdom’s various arts renown’d, 

' Long exercised in woes, O muse! resound. 
Who, when his arms had wrought the destin’d fall 
Of Sacred Troy, and raz’d her heav’n-built wall, 
Wandering from clime to clime, observant stray’d, 
The manners noted, and their states survey’d. 
On stormy seas unnumber’d toils he bore, 
Safe with his friends to gain his natal shore: 

VoL. 3—19 289 








THE RAMBLER 


Vain toils! their impious folly dar’d to prey 

On herds devoted to the god of day; 

The god vindictive doom’d them never more 

(Ah! men unbless’d) to touch that natal shore. 

O snatch some portion of these acts from fate, 

Celestial muse! and to our world relate. Pope. 


The first verses of the Iliad are in like manner 
particularly splendid, and the proposition of the 
/Kneid closes with dignity and magnificence not 
often to be found even in the poetry of Virgil. 

The intent of the introduction is to raise expec- 
tation, and suspend it; something therefore must 
be discovered, and something concealed; and the 
poet, while the fertility of his invention is yet un- 
known, may properly recommend himself by the 
grace of his language. 

He that reveals too much, or promises too little; 
he that never irritates the intellectual appetite, or 
that immediately satiates it, equally defeats his 
own purpose. It is necessary to the pleasure of the 
reader, that the events should not be anticipated, 
and how then can his attention be invited, but by 
grandeur of expression? 


No. 159. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1751 


Sunt verba et voces, quibus hunc lenire dolorem 
Possis, et magnum morbi deponere partem. Hor. Ep. Lib. i. 34, 


The power of words, and soothing sounds, appease 
The raging pain, and lessen the disease. Francis. 
HE imbecility with which Verecundulus com- 
plains that the presence of a numerous assem- 
bly freezes his faculties, is particularly incident to 
the studious part of mankind, whose education 
290 


THE RAMBLER 


necessarily secludes them in their earlier years from 
mingled converse, till, at their dismission from 
schools and academies, they plunge at once into 
the tumult of the world, and, coming forth from 
the gloom of solitude, are overpowered by the 
blaze of publick life. 

It is, perhaps, kindly provided by nature, that as 
the feathers and strength of a bird grow together, 
and her wings are not completed till she is able 
to fly, so some proportion should be preserved in 
the human kind between judgment and courage; 
the precipitation of inexperience is therefore re- 
strained by shame, and we remain shackled by 
timidity, till we have learned to speak and act with 
propriety. 

I believe few can review the days of their youth 
without recollecting temptations, which shame, 
rather than virtue, enabled them to resist; and 
opinions which, however erroneous in their prin- 
ciples, and dangerous in their consequences, they 
have panted to advance at the hazard of contempt 
and hatred, when they found themselves irresistibly 
depressed by a languid anxiety, which seized them 
at the moment of utterance, and still gathered 
strength from their endeavours to resist it. 

It generally happens that assurance keeps an even 
pace with ability, and the fear of miscarriage, which 
hinders our first attempts, is gradually dissipated as 
our skill advances towards certainty of success. 
That bashfulness, therefore, which prevents dis- 
grace, that short and temporary shame which secures 

291 


THE RAMBLER 


us from the danger of lasting reproach, cannot be 
properly counted among our misfortunes. 

Bashfulness, however it may incommode for a 
moment, scarcely ever produces evils of long con- 
tinuance; it may flush the cheek, flutter in the heart, 
deject the eyes, and enchain the tongue, but its 
mischiefs soon pass off without remembrance. It 
may sometimes exclude pleasure, but seldom opens 
any avenue to sorrow or remorse. It is observed 
somewhere that few have repented of having for- 
borne to speak. 

To excite opposition, and inflame malevolence, 
is the unhappy privilege of courage made arrogant 
by consciousness of strength. No man finds in him- 
self any inclination to attack or oppose him who 
confesses his superiority by blushing in his presence. 
Qualities exerted with apparent fearfulness, receive 
applause from every voice, and support from every 
hand. Diffidence may check resolution and obstruct 
performance, but compensates its embarrassments 
by more important advantages; it conciliates the 
proud, and softens the severe, averts envy from 
excellence, and censure from miscarriage. 

It may indeed happen that knowledge and virtue 
remain too long congealed by this frigorifick power, 
as the principles of vegetation are sometimes ob- 
structed by lingering frosts. He that enters late into 
a public station, though with all the abilities requisite 
to the discharge of his duty, will find his powers at 
first impeded by a timidity which he himself knows 
to be vicious, and must struggle long against dejec- 

292 


THE RAMBLER 


tion and reluctance, before he obtains the full com- 
mand of his own attention, and adds the gracefulness 
of ease to the dignity of merit. 

For this disease of the mind I know not whether 
any remedies of much efficacy can be found. To 
advise a man unaccustomed to the eyes of multi- 
tudes to mount a tribunal without perturbation, to 
tell him whose life was passed in the shades of con- 
templation, that he must not be disconcerted or 
perplexed in receiving and returning the compli- 
ments of a splendid assembly, is to advise an in- 
habitant of Brasil or Sumatra not to shiver at an 
English winter, or him who has always lived upon 
a plain to look from a precipice without emotion. 
It is to suppose custom instantaneously controllable 
by reason, and to endeavour to communicate, by 
precept, that which only time and habit can bestow. 

He that hopes by philosophy and contemplation 
alone to fortify himself against that awe which all, 
at their first appearance on the stage of life, must 
feel from the spectators, will, at the hour of need, 
be mocked by his resolution; and I doubt whether 
the preservatives which Plato relates Alcibiades to 
have received from Socrates, when he was about to 
speak in public, proved sufficient to secure him from 
the powerful fascination. 

Yet, as the effects of time may by art and industry 
be accelerated or retarded, it cannot be improper 
to consider how this troublesome instinct may 
be opposed when it exceeds its just proportion, 
and instead of repressing petulance and temerity, 

293 


THE RAMBLER 


silences eloquence, and debilitates force; since, 
though it cannot be hoped that anxiety should be 
immediately dissipated, it may be at least somewhat 
abated; and the passions will operate with less vio- 
lence, when reason rises against them, than while 
she either slumbers in neutrality, or, mistaking her 
interest, lends them her assistance. 

No cause more frequently produces bashfulness 
than too high an opinion of our own importance. 
He that imagines an assembly filled with his merit, 
panting with expectation, and hushed with atten- 
tion, easily terrifies himself with the dread of disap- 
pointing them, and strains his imagination in pursuit 
of something that may vindicate the veracity of 
fame, and shew that his reputation was not gained 
by chance. He considers that what he shall say or 
do will never be forgotten; that renown or infamy 
is suspended upon every syllable, and that nothing 
ought to fall from him which will not bear the test 
of time. Under such solicitude, who can wonder 
that the mind is overwhelmed, and, by struggling 
with attempts above her strength, quickly sinks 
into languishment and despondency? 

The most useful medicines are often unpleasing 
to the taste. Those who are oppressed by their own 
reputation, will, perhaps, not be comforted by hear- 
ing that their cares are unnecessary. But the truth 
is, that no man is much regarded by the rest of the 
world. He that considers how little he dwells upon 
the condition of others, will learn how little the 
attention of others is attracted by himself. While 

294 i 


THE RAMBLER 


we see multitudes passing before us, of whom, per- 
haps, not one appears to deserve our notice, or ex- 
cite our sympathy, we should remember, that we 
likewise are lost in the same throng; that the eye 
which happens to glance upon us is turned in a 
moment on him that follows us, and that the ut- 
most which we can reasonably hope or fear is, to 
fill a vacant hour with prattle, and be forgotten. 


No. 160. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1751 


—Tnter se convenit ursis. Juv. Sat. xv. 164. 


Beasts of each kind their fellows spare! 
Bear lives in amity with bear. 


66 HE world,’’ says Locke, ‘‘ has people of all 

sorts.’ As in the general hurry produced by 
the superfluities of some, and necessities of others, 
no man needs to stand still for want of employ- 
ment, so in the innumerable gradations of ability, 
and endless varieties of study and inclination, no 
employment can be vacant for want of a man 
qualified to discharge it. 

Such is probably the natural state of the uni- 
verse; but it is so much deformed by interest and 
passion, that the benefit of this adaptation of men 
to things is not always perceived. The folly or indi- 
gence of those who set their services to sale, in- 
clines them to boast of qualifications which they do 
not possess, and attempt business which they do 
not understand; and they who have the power of 
assigning to others the task of life, are seldom hon- 

295 


THE RAMBLER 


est or seldom happy in their nomination. Patrons 
are corrupted by avarice, cheated by credulity, or 
overpowered by resistless solicitation. They are 
sometimes too strongly influenced by honest preju- 
dices of friendship, or the prevalence of virtuous 
compassion. For, whatever cool reason may direct, 
it is not easy for a man of tender and scrupulous 
goodness to overlook the immediate effect of his 
own actions, by turning his eyes upon remoter con- 
sequences, and to do that which must give present 
pain, for the sake of obviating evil yet unfelt, or 
securing advantage in time to come. What is dis- 
tant is in itself obscure, and, when we have no 
wish to see it, easily escapes our notice, or takes 
such a form as desire or imagination bestows 
upon it. 

Every man might, for the same reason, in the 
multitudes that swarm about him, find some kindred 
mind with which he could unite in confidence and 
friendship; yet we see many struggling single about 
the world, unhappy for want of an associate, and 
pining with the necessity of confining their senti- 
ments to their own bosoms. 

This inconvenience arises, in like manner, from 
struggles of the will against the understanding. It 
is not often difficult to find a suitable companion, 
if every man would be content with such as he is 
qualified to please. But if vanity tempts him to 
forsake his rank, and post himself among those with 
whom no common interest or mutual pleasure can 
ever unite him, he must always live in a state of 

296 


THE RAMBLER 


unsocial separation, without tenderness and without 
trust. 

There are many natures which can never approach 
within a certain distance, and which, when any ir- 
regular motive impels them towards contact, seem 
to start back from each other by some invincible 
repulsion. There are others which immediately co- 
here whenever they come into the reach of mutual 
attraction, and with very little formality of prepara- 
tion mingle intimately as soon as they meet. Every 
man, whom either business or curiosity has thrown 
at large into the world, will recollect many instances 
of fondness and dislike, which have forced them- 
selves upon him without the intervention of his 
judgment; of dispositions to court some and avoid 
others, when he could assign no reason for the pref- 
erence, or none adequate to the violence of his pas- 
sions; of influence that acted instantaneously upon 
his mind, and which no arguments or persuasions 
could ever overcome. 

Among those with whom time and intercourse 
have made us familiar, we feel our affections di- 
vided in different proportions without much regard 
to moral or intellectual merit. Every man knows 
some whom he cannot induce himself to trust, 
though he has no reason to suspect that they would 
betray him; those to whom he cannot complain, 
though he never observed them to want compas- 
sion; those in whose presence he never can be gay, 
though excited by invitations to mirth and freedom ; 
and those from whom he cannot be content to re- 

297 


THE RAMBLER 


ceive instruction, though they never insulted his 
ignorance by contempt or ostentation. 

That much regard is to be had to those instincts 
of kindness and dislike, or that reason should blindly 
follow them, I am far from intending to inculcate: 
it is very certain, that by indulgence we may give 
them strength which they have not from nature, 
and almost every example of ingratitude and treach- 
ery proves, that by obeying them we may commit 
our happiness to those who are very unworthy of 
so great a trust. But it may deserve to be remarked, 
that since few contend much with their inclinations, 
it is generally vain to solicit the good-will of those 
whom we perceive thus involuntarily alienated from 
us; neither knowledge nor virtue will reconcile an- 
tipathy, and though officiousness may be for a time 
admitted, and diligence applauded, they will at 
last be dismissed with coldness, or discouraged by 
neglect. 

Some have indeed an occult power of stealing 
upon the affections, of exciting universal benevo- 
lence, and disposing every heart to fondness and 
friendship. But this is a felicity granted only to the 
favourites of nature. The greater part of mankind 
find a different reception from different dispositions ; 
they sometimes obtain unexpected caresses from 
those whom they never flattered with uncommon 
regard, and sometimes exhaust all their arts of 
pleasing without effect. To these it is necessary to 
look round, and attempt every breast in which they 
find virtue sufficient for the foundation of friend- 

298 


THE RAMBLER 


ship; to enter into the crowd, and try whom chance 
will offer to their notice, till they fix on some tem- 
per congenial to their own, as the magnet rolled 
in the dust collects the fragments of its kindred 
metal from a thousand particles of other substances. 

Every man must have remarked the facility with 
which the kindness of others is sometimes gained 
by those to whom he never could have imparted 
his own. We are by our occupations, education, and 
habits of life, divided almost into different species, 
which regard one another, for the most part, with 
scorn and malignity. Each of these classes of the 
human race has desires, fears, and conversation, vex- 
ations and merriment peculiar to itself; cares which 
another cannot feel; pleasures which he cannot par- 
take; and modes of expressing every sensation 
which he cannot understand. That frolick which 
shakes one man with laughter, will convulse an- 
other with indignation; the strain of jocularity 
which in one place obtains treats and patronage, 
would in another be heard with indifference, and in 
a third with abhorrence. 

To raise esteem we must benefit others, to pro- 
cure love we must please them. Aristotle observes, 
that old men donot readily form friendships, because 
they are not easily susceptible of pleasure. He that 
can contribute to the hilarity of the vacant hour, or 
partake with equal gust the favourite amusement; 
he whose mind is employed on the same objects, 
and who therefore never harasses the understanding 
with unaccustomed ideas, will be welcomed with 

299 


measles 


a SNE SC RR EP 


THE RAMBLER 


ardour, and left with regret, unless he destroys those 
recommendations by faults with which peace and 
security cannot consist. 

It were happy, if, in forming friendships, virtue 
could concur with pleasure; but the greatest part 
of human gratifications approach so nearly to vice, 
that few who make the delight of others their rule 
of conduct, can avoid disingenuous compliances; 
yet certainly he that suffers himself to be driven or 


' allured from virtue, mistakes his own interest, since 


he gains succour by means, for which his friend, 
if ever he becomes wise, must scorn him, and for 
which at last he must scorn himself. 


No. 161. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1751 
Oly yap pbdrwy yevén, tombe xat” Avdpwy. 
Hom. II. T’. 


Frail as the leaves that quiver on the sprays, 
Like them man flourishes, like them decays. 


MR. RAMBLER. 
SIR, 


OU have formerly observed that curiosity often 

terminates in barren knowledge, and that the 
mind is prompted to study and inquiry rather by 
the uneasiness of ignorance, than the hope of profit. 
Nothing can be of less importance to any present 
interest, than the fortune of those who have been 
long lost in the grave, and from whom nothing now 
can be hoped or feared. Yet, to rouse the zeal of a 
true antiquary, little more is necessary than to 
mention a name which mankind have conspired to 

300 


THE RAMBLER 


forget; he will make his way to remote scenes of 
action through obscurity and contradiction, as Tully 
sought amidst bushes and brambles the tomb of 
Archimedes. 

It is not easy to discover how it concerns him 
that gathers the produce, or receives the rent of an 
estate, to know through what families the land has 
passed, who is registered in the Conqueror’s survey 
as its possessor, how often it has been forfeited by 
treason, or how often sold by prodigality. The power 
or wealth of the present inhabitants of a country 
cannot be much increased by an inquiry after the 
names of those barbarians, who destroyed one an- 
other twenty centuries ago, in contests for the shel- 
ter of woods, or convenience of pasturage. Yet we 
see that no man can be at rest in the enjoyment of 
anew purchase till he has learned the history of his 
grounds from the ancient inhabitants of the parish, 
and that no nation omits to record the actions 
of their ancestors, however bloody, savage, and 
rapacious. 

The same disposition, as different opportunities 
call it forth, discovers itself in great or little 
things. I have always thought it unworthy of a 
wise man to slumber in total inactivity, only be- 
cause he happens to have no employment equal 
to his ambition or genius; it is therefore my cus- 
tom to apply my attention to the objects before 
me, and as I cannot think any place wholly un- 
worthy of notice that affords a habitation to a 
man of letters, I have collected the history and 

301 


THE RAMBLER 


antiquities of the several garrets in which I have 
resided. 


Quantulacunque estis, vos ego magna voco. 


How small to others, but how great to me! 


Many of these narratives my industry has been 
able to extend to a considerable length; but the 
woman with whom I now lodge has lived only eigh- 
teen months in the house, and can give no account 
of its ancient revolutions; the plaisterer having, at 
her entrance, obliterated, by his white-wash, all the 
smoky memorials which former tenants had left 
upon the ceiling, and perhaps drawn the veil of 
oblivion over politicians, philosophers, and poets. 

When I first cheapened my lodgings, the land- 
lady told me, that she hoped I was not an author, 
for the lodgers on the first floor had stipulated that 
the upper rooms should not be occupied by a noisy 
trade. I very readily promised to give no disturbance 
to her family, and soon dispatched a bargain on the 
usual terms. 

I had not slept many nights in my new apartment 
before I began to inquire after my predecessors, and 
found my landlady, whose imagination is filled 
chiefly ‘with her own affairs, very ready to give me 
information. 

Curiosity, like all other desires, produces pain as 
well as pleasure. Before she began her narrative, I 
had heated my head with expectations of adventures 
and discoveries, of elegance in disguise, and learning 
in distress; and was somewhat mortified when I 

302 


THE RAMBLER 


heard that the first tenant was a tailor, of whom 
nothing was remembered but that he complained 
of his room for want of light; and, after having 
lodged in it a month, and paid only a week’s rent, 
pawned a piece of cloth which he was trusted to 
cut out, and was forced to make a precipitate re- 
treat from this quarter of the town. 

The next was a young woman newly arrived 
from the country, who lived for five weeks with 
great regularity, and became by frequent treats very 
much the favourite of the family, but at last re- 
ceived visits so frequently from a cousin in Cheap- 
side, that she brought the reputation of the house 
into danger, and was therefore dismissed with good 
advice. 

The room then stood empty for a fortnight; my 
landlady began to think that she had judged hardly, 
and often wished for such another lodger. At last, 
an elderly man of a grave aspect read the bill, and 
bargained for the room at the very first price that 
was asked. He lived in close retirement, seldom 
went out till evening, and then returned early, 
sometimes cheerful, and at other times dejected. It 
was remarkable, that whatever he purchased, he 
never had small money in his pocket; and, though 
cool and temperate on other occasions, was always 
vehement and stormy, till he received his change. 
He paid his rent with great exactness, and seldom 
failed once a week to requite my landlady’s civility 
with a supper. At last, such is the fate of human 
felicity, the house was alarmed at midnight by the 

3038 


THE RAMBLER 


constable, who demanded to search the garrets. 
My landlady assuring him that he had mistaken the 
door, conducted him upstairs, where he found the 
tools of a coiner; but the tenant had crawled along 
the roof to an empty house, and escaped; much to 
the joy of my landlady, who declares him a very 
honest man, and wonders why any body should be 
hanged for making money when such numbers are 
in want of it. She however confesses that she shall, 
for the future, always question the character of 
those who take her garret without beating down 
the price. 

The bill was then placed again in the window, 
and the poor woman was teased for seven weeks by 
innumerable passengers, who obliged her to climb 
with them every hour up five stories, and then dis- 
liked the prospect, hated the noise of a publick 
street, thought the stairs narrow, objected to a low 
ceiling, required the walls to be hung with fresher 
paper, asked questions about the neighbourhood, 
could not think of living so far from their acquaint- 
ance, wished the windows had looked to the south 
rather than the west, told how the door and chimney 
might have been better disposed, bid her half the 
price that she asked, or promised to give her 
earnest the next day, and came no more. 

At last, a short meagre man, in a tarnished waist- 
coat, desired to see the garret, and when he had 
stipulated for two long shelves, and a larger table, 
hired it at a low rate. When the affair was com- 
pleted, he looked round him with great satisfaction, 

304 


THE RAMBLER 


and repeated some words which the woman did not 
understand. In two days he brought a great box of 
books, took possession of his room, and lived very 
inoffensively, except that he frequently disturbed 
the inhabitants of the next floor by unseasonable 
noises. He was generally in bed at noon, but from 
evening to midnight he sometimes talked aloud with 
great vehemence, sometimes stamped as in rage, 
sometimes threw down his poker, then clattered his 
chairs, then sat down in deep thought, and again 
burst out into loud vociferations; sometimes he 
would sigh as oppressed with misery, and sometimes 
shaked with convulsive laughter. When he encoun- 
tered any of the family, he gave way or bowed, but 
rarely spoke, except that as he went upstairs he 
often repeated, 


—‘Os ixéptata ddpata vater. 


This habitant th’ aerial regions boast ; 


hard words, to which his neighbours listened so 
often, that they learned them without understand- 
ing them. What was his employment she did not 
venture to ask him, but at last heard a printer’s boy 
inquire for the author. 

My landlady was very often advised to beware of 
this strange man, who, though he was quiet for the 
present, might perhaps become outrageous in the hot 
months; but, as she was punctually paid, she could 
not find any sufficient reason for dismissing him, till 


one night he convinced her, by setting fire to his 
VoL. 3—20 305 


THE RAMBLER 


curtains, that it was not safe to have an author for 
her inmate. 

She had then for six weeks a succession of tenants, 
who left the house on Saturday, and, instead of 
paying their rent, stormed at their landlady. At last 
she took in two sisters, one of whom had spent her 
little fortune in procuring remedies for a lingering 
disease, and was now supported and attended by 
the other: she climbed with difficulty to the apart- 
ment, where she languished eight weeks without 
impatience, or lamentation, except for the expense 
and fatigue which her sister suffered, and then 
calmly and contentedly expired. The sister followed 
her to the grave, paid the few debts which they had 
contracted, wiped away the tears of useless sorrow, 
and, returning to the business of common life, re- 
signed to me the vacant habitation. 

Such, Mr. Rambler, are the changes which have 
happened in the narrow space where my present 
fortune has fixed my residence. So true it is that 
amusement and instruction are always at hand for 
those who have skill and willingness to find them; 
and, so just is the observation of Juvenal, that a 
single house will shew whatever is done or suffered 
in the world. 

I am, Sir, &c. 


306 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 162. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 5, 1751 


Orbus es, et locuples, et Bruto consule natus, 
Esse tibi veras credis amicitias? 
Sunt vere: sed quas Juvenis, quas pauper habebas: 
Qui novus est, mortem diligit ille tuam. 
Mart, Lib. xi. Ep. 44. 


What! old and rich, and childless too, 

And yet believe your friends are true? 

Truth might perhaps to those belong, 

To those who lov’d you poor and young; 

But, trust me, for the new you have, 

They’ll love you dearly—in your grave. F. Lewis. 


NE of the complaints uttered by Milton’s 

Samson, in the anguish of blindness, is, that 
he shall pass his life under the direction of others; 
that he cannot regulate his conduct by his own 
knowledge, but must lie at the mercy of those 
who undertake to guide him. 

There is no state more contrary to the dignity 
of wisdom than perpetual and unlimited depend- 
ance, in which the understanding lies useless, and 
every motion is received from external impulse. 
Reason is the great distinction of human nature, 
the faculty by which we approach to some degree 
of association with celestial intelligences; but as 
the excellence of every power appears only in its 
operations, not to have reason, and to have it use- 
less and unemployed, is nearly the same. 

Such is the weakness of man, that the essence of 
things is seldom so much regarded as external and 
accidental appendages. A small variation of trifling 
circumstances, a slight change of form by an arti- 

307 


THE RAMBLER 


ficial dress, or a casual difference of appearance, by 
a new light and situation, will conciliate affection 
or excite abhorrence, and determine us to pursue or 
to avoid. Every man considers a necessity of com- 
pliance with any will but his own, as the lowest 
state of ignominy and meanness; few are so far lost 
in cowardice or negligence, as not to rouse at the 
first insult of tyranny, and exert all their force 
against him who usurps their property, or invades 
any privilege of speech or action. Yet we see often 
those who never wanted spirit to repel encroach- 
ment or oppose violence, at last, by a gradual 
relaxation of vigilance, delivering up, without ca- 
pitulation, the fortress which they defended against 
assault, and laying down unbidden the weapons 
which they grasp the harder for every attempt to 
wrest them from their hands. Men eminent for spirit 
and wisdom often resign themselves to voluntary 
pupilage, and suffer their lives to be modelled by 
officious ignorance, and their choice to be regulated 
by presumptuous stupidity. 

This unresisting acquiescence in the determina- 
tion of others, may be the consequence of applica- 
tion to some study remote from the beaten track 
of life, some employment which does not allow 
leisure for sufficient inspection of those petty af- 
fairs, by which nature has decreed a great part of 
our duration to be filled. To a mind thus withdrawn 
from common objects, it is more eligible to repose 
on the prudence of another, than to be exposed 
every moment to slight interruptions. The submis- 

308 


THE RAMBLER 


sion which such confidence requires, is paid without 
pain, because it implies no confession of inferiority. 
The business from which we withdraw our cogni- 
zance, is not above our abilities, but below our notice. 
We please our pride with the effects of our influence 
thus weakly exerted, and fancy ourselves placed in 
a higher orb, for which we regulate subordinate 
agents by a slight and distant superintendence. But, 
whatever vanity or abstraction may suggest, no man 
can safely do that by others which might be done 
by himself; he that indulges negligence will quickly 
become ignorant of his own affairs; and he that 
trusts without reserve will at last be deceived. 

It is, however, impossible but that, as the atten- 
tion tends strongly towards one thing, it must re- 
tire from another; and he that omits the care of 
domestick business, because he is engrossed by in- 
quiries of more importance to mankind, has, at 
least, the merit of suffering in a good cause. But 
there are many who can plead no such extenuation 
of their folly; who shake off the burden of their 
situation, not that they may soar with less incum- 
brance to the heights of knowledge or virtue, but 
that they may loiter at ease and sleep in quiet; and 
who select for friendship and confidence not the 
faithful and the virtuous, but the soft, the civil, and 
compliant. 

This openness to flattery is the common disgrace 
of declining life. When men feel weakness increas- 
ing on them, they naturally desire to rest from the 
struggles of contradiction, the fatigue of reasoning, 

309 


THE RAMBLER 


the anxiety of cireumspection ; when they are hourly 
tormented with pains and diseases, they are unable 
to bear any new disturbance, and consider all oppo- 
sition as an addition to misery, of which they feel 
already more than they can patiently endure. Thus 
desirous of peace, and thus fearful of pain, the old 
man seldom inquires after any other qualities in 
those whom he caresses, than quickness in conjec- 
turing his desires, activity in supplying his wants, 
dexterity in intercepting complaints before they 
approach near enough to disturb him, flexibility to 
his present humour, submission to hasty petulance, 
and attention to wearisome narrations. By these arts 
alone many have been able to defeat the claims of 
kindred and of merit, and to enrich themselves with 
presents and legacies. 

Thrasybulus inherited a large fortune, and aug- 
mented it by the revenues of several lucrative em- 
ployments, which he discharged with honour and 
dexterity. He was at last wise enough to consider, 
that life should not be devoted wholly to accumu- 
lation, and therefore retiring to his estate applied 
himself to the education of his children, and the 
cultivation of domestick happiness. 

He passed several years in this pleasing amuse- 
ment, and saw his care amply recompensed; his 
daughters were celebrated for modesty and elegance, 
and his sons for learning, prudence, and spirit. In 
time the eagerness with which the neighbouring 
gentlemen courted his alliance, obliged him to resign 
his daughters to other families; the vivacity and 

310 


THE RAMBLER 


curiosity of his sons hurried them out of rural 
privacy into the open world, from whence they had 
not soon an inclination to return. This, however, he 
had always hoped; he pleased himself with the suc- 
cess of his schemes, and felt no inconvenience from 
solitude till an apoplexy deprived him of his wife. 

Thrasybulus had now no companion; and the 
maladies of increasing years having taken from him 
much of the power of procuring amusement for 
himself, he thought it necessary to procure some 
inferior friend, who might ease him of his economical 
solicitudes, and divert him by cheerful conversation. 
All these qualities he soon recollected in Vafer, a 
clerk in one of the offices over which he had formerly 
presided. Vafer was invited to visit his old patron, 
and being by his station acquainted with the present 
modes of life, and by constant practice dexterous in 
business, entertained him with so many novelties, 
and so readily disentangled his affairs, that he was 
desired to resign his clerkship, and accept a liberal 
salary in the house of Thrasybulus. 

Vafer, having always lived in a state of depend- 
ance, was well versed in the arts by which favour 
is obtained, and could, without repugnance or hesi- 
tation, accommodate himself to every caprice, and 
echo every opinion. He never doubted but to be 
convinced, nor attempted opposition but to flatter 
Thrasybulus with the pleasure of a victory. By this 
practice he found his way into his patron’s heart, 
and, having first made himself agreeable, soon be- 
came important. His insidious diligence, by which 

311 


THE RAMBLER 


the laziness of age was gratified, engrossed the 
management of affairs; and his petty offices of 
civility, and occasional intercessions, persuaded the 
tenants to consider him as their friend and bene- 
factor, and to entreat his enforcement of their rep- 
resentations of hard years, and his countenance to 
petitions for abatement of rent. 

Thrasybulus had now banqueted on flattery, till 
he could no longer bear the harshness of remon- 
strance or the insipidity of truth. All contrariety 
to his own opinion shocked him like a violation of 
some natural right, and all recommendation of his 
affairs to his own inspection was dreaded by him as 
a summons to torture. His children were alarmed 
by the sudden riches of Vafer, but their complaints 
were heard by their father with impatience, as the 
result of a conspiracy against his quiet, and a design 
to condemn him, for their own advantage, to groan 
out his last hours in perplexity and drudgery. The 
daughters retired with tears in their eyes, but the 
son continued his importunities till he found his in- 
heritance hazarded by his obstinacy. 

Vater triumphed over all their efforts, and, con- 
tinuing to confirm himself in authority, at the death 
of his master, purchased an estate, and bade defiance 
to inquiry and justice. 


312 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 163. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1751 


Mitte superba pati fastidia, spemque caducam 
Despice; vive tibi, nam moriere tibi. SENECA. 


Bow to no patron’s insolence; rely 
On no frail hopes, in freedom live and die. F. Lewis. 


ONE of the cruelties exercised by wealth and 
power upon indigence and dependance is more 
mischievous in its consequences, or more frequently 
practised with wanton negligence, than the encour- 
agement of expectations which are never to be grati- 
fied, and the elation and depression of the heart by 
needless vicissitudes of hope and disappointment. 
Every man is rich or poor, according to propor- 
tion between his desires and enjoyments; any en- 
largement of wishes is therefore equally destructive 
to happiness with the diminution of possession; and 
he that teaches another to long for what he never 
shall obtain, is no less an enemy to his quiet, than 
if he had robbed him of part of his patrimony. 

But representations thus refined exhibit no ade- 
quate idea of the guilt of pretended friendship; of 
artifices by which followers are attracted only to 
decorate the retinue of pomp, and swell the shout 
of popularity, and to be dismissed with contempt 
and ignominy, when their leader has succeeded or 
miscarried, when he is sick of show, and weary of 
noise. While a man infatuated with the promises 
of greatness, wastes his hours and days in attend- 
ance and solicitation, the honest opportunities of 
improving his condition pass by without his notice; 

313 


THE RAMBLER 


he neglects to cultivate his own barren soil, because 
he expects every moment to be placed in regions 
of spontaneous fertility, and is seldom roused from 
his delusion, but by the gripe of distress which he 
cannot resist, and the sense of evils which cannot 
be remedied. 

The punishment of Tantalus in the infernal re- 
gions affords a just image of hungry servility, flat- 
tered with the approach of advantage, doomed to 
lose it before it comes into his reach, always within 
a few days of felicity, and always sinking back to 
his former wants: 


Kat pny Tdvtadoy eicetdov, yalér ahye eyovta, 
*Eotaét’ ev Aiuyy’ 9 6é mpocénhale yevely 
Xacdto O& dedwy, nesewv © odx elyev Ehgabar: 
‘Ooodxt yap xddel 6 yépwy negewy peveatvuy, 
Tosody Sdwp aroléoxer dvaBpoyéy" apg dé zocor 
Tata pélawa pdveoxe, xatalyvacxe 0é datuwy. 
Aégvdpea © Sdurétyha xataxp7Oev yée xaproy, 
"Oyyvat, xar potar, xa uniéat dyhadxaprot, 
Louxat te phoxepat, xat dhatat tyre Odwoa: 

Tay bx6v tObcet 6 yépwy ext yepol pacacbat, 
Tdo® dvepos pintaoxe mote végea oxtéevta. 


Hom. Od. A’. 581. 


*“T saw,’’ says Homer’s Ulysses, ‘‘ the severe 
punishment of Tantalus. In a lake, whose waters ap- 
proached to his lips, he stood burning with thirst, 
without the power to drink. Whenever he inclined 
his head to the stream, some deity commanded it 
to be dry, and the dark earth appeared at his feet. 
Around him lofty trees spread their fruits to view; 
the pear, the pomegranate and the apple, the green 

314 


THE RAMBLER 


olive and the luscious fig quivered before him, 
which, whenever he extended his hand to seize 
them, were snatched by the winds into clouds and 
obscurity. ’’ 

This image of misery was perhaps originally sug- 
gested to some poet by the conduct of his patron, 
by the daily contemplation of splendour which he 
never must partake, by fruitless attempts to catch 
at interdicted happiness, and by the sudden eva- 
nescence of his reward, when he thought his labours 
almost at an end. To groan with poverty, when all 
about him was opulence, riot, and superfluity, and 
to find the favours which he had long been en- 
couraged to hope, and had long endeavoured to 
deserve, squandered at last on nameless ignorance, 
was to thirst with water flowing before him, and to 
see the fruits, to which his hunger was hastening, 
scattered by the wind. Nor can my correspondent, 
whatever he may have suffered, express with more 
justness or force the vexations of dependance. 

a TO THE RAMBLER. 

I am one of those mortals who have been courted 
and envied as the favourites of the great. Having 
often gained the prize of composition at the uni- 
versity, I began to hope that I should obtain the 
same distinction in every other place, and deter- 
mined to forsake the profession to which I was des- 
tined by my parents, and in which the interest of 
my family would have procured me a very advan- 
tageous settlement. The pride of wit fluttered in 

315 


THE RAMBLER 


my heart, and when I prepared to leave the college, 
nothing entered my imagination but honours, ca- 
resses, and rewards, riches without labour, and lux- 
ury without expense. 

I however delayed my departure for a time, to 
finish the performance by which I was to draw the 
first notice of mankind upon me. When it was com- 
pleted I hurried to London, and considered every 
moment that passed before its publication, as lost 
in a kind of neutral existence, and cut off from the 
golden hours of happiness and fame. The piece was 
at last printed and disseminated by a rapid sale; I 
wandered from one place of concourse to another, 
feasted from morning to night on the repetition of 
my own praises, and enjoyed the various conjec- 
tures of criticks, the mistaken candour of my friends, 
and the impotent malice of my enemies. Some had 
read the manuscript, and rectified its inaccuracies; 
others had seen it in a state so imperfect, that they 
could not forbear to wonder at its present excellence; 
some had conversed with the author at the coffee- 
house; and others gave hints that they had lent him 
money. 

I knew that no performance is so favourably read 
as that of a writer who suppresses his name, and 
therefore resolved to remain concealed, till those by 
whom literary reputation is established had given 
their suffrages too publickly to retract them. At 
length my bookseller informed me that Aurantius, 
the standing patron of merit, had sent inquiries 
after me, and invited me to his acquaintance. 

316 


THE RAMBLER 


The time which I had long expected was now 
arrived. I went to Aurantius with a beating heart, 
for I looked upon our interview as the critical mo- 
ment of my destiny. I was received with civilities 
which my academick rudeness made me unable to 
repay; but when I had recovered from my confu- 
sion, I prosecuted the conversation with such liveli- 
ness and propriety, that I confirmed my new friend 
in his esteem of my abilities, and was dismissed with 
the utmost ardour of profession, and raptures of 
fondness. 

I was soon summoned to dine with Aurantius, 
who had assembled the most judicious of his friends 
to partake of the entertainment. Again I exerted 
my powers of sentiment and expression, and again 
found every eye sparkling with delight, and every 
tongue silent with attention. I now became familiar 
at the table of Aurantius, but could never, in his 
most private or jocund hours, obtain more from him 
than general declarations of esteem, or endearments 
of tenderness, which included no particular promise, 
and therefore conferred no claim. This frigid reserve 
somewhat disgusted me, and when he complained 
of three days absence, I took care to inform him 
with how much importunity of kindness I had been 
detained by his rival Pollio. 

Aurantius now considered his honour as endan- 
gered by the desertion of a wit, and, lest I should 
have an inclination to wander, told me that I could 
never find a friend more constant and zealous than 
himself; that indeed he had made no promises be- 

317 


THE RAMBLER 


cause he hoped to surprise me with advancement, 
but had been silently promoting my interest, and 
should continue his good offices, unless he found the 
kindness of others more desired. 

If you, Mr. Rambler, have ever ventured your 
philosophy within the attraction of greatness, you 
know the force of such language introduced with a 
smile of gracious tenderness, and impressed at the 
conclusion with an air of solemn sincerity. From 
that instant I gave myself up wholly to Auran- 
tius, and, as he immediately resumed the former 
gaiety, expected every morning a summons to some 
employment of dignity and profit. One month suc- 
ceeded another, and, in defiance of appearances, I 
still fancied myself nearer to my wishes, and con- 
tinued to dream of success, and wake to disappoint- 
ment. At last the failure of my little fortune 
compelled me to abate the finery which I hitherto 
thought necessary to the company with whom I 
associated, and the rank to which I should be raised. 
Aurantius, from the moment in which he discovered 
my poverty, considered me as fully in his power, 
and afterwards rather permitted my attendance than 
invited it; thought himself at liberty to refuse my 
visits, whenever he had other amusements within 
reach, and often suffered me to wait, without pre- 
tending any necessary business. When I was ad- 
mitted to his table, if any man of rank equal to his 
own. was present, he took occasion to mention my 
writings, and commend my ingenuity, by which he 
intended to apologize for the confusion of distinc- 

318 


THE RAMBLER 


tions, and the improper assortment of his company ; 
and often called upon me to entertain his friends 
with my productions, as a sportsman delights the 
squires of his neighbourhood with the curvets of his 
horse, or the obedience of his spaniels. 

To complete my mortification, it was his practice 
to impose tasks upon me, by requiring me to write 
upon such subjects as he thought susceptible of 
ornament and illustration. With these extorted per- 
formances he was little satisfied, because he rarely 
found in them the ideas which his own imagination 
had suggested, and which he therefore thought more 
natural than mine. 

When the pale of ceremony is broken, rudeness 
and insult soon enter the breach. He now found 
that he might safely harass me with vexation, that 
he had fixed the shackles of patronage upon me, and 
that I could neither resist him nor escape. At last, 
in the eighth year of my servitude, when the 
clamour of creditors was vehement, and my neces- 
sity known to be extreme, he offered me a small 
office, but hinted his expectation, that I should 
marry a young woman with whom he had been 
acquainted. 

I was not so far depressed by my calamities as to 
comply with this proposal; but, knowing that com- 
plaints and expostulations would but gratify his 
insolence, I turned away with that contempt with 
which I shall never want spirit to treat the wretch 
who can outgo the guilt of a robber without the 
temptation of his profit, and who lures the credulous 

319 


THE RAMBLER 


and thoughtless to maintain the show of his levee, 
and the mirth of his table, at the expense of honour, 


happiness, and life. Tastee 


LIBERALIS. 


No. 164. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12, 1751 





Vitium, Gaure, Catonis habes. 
Mart. Lib. ii. Ep. lxxxix. 2. 


Gaurus pretends to Cato’s fame; 
And proves—by Cato’s vice, his claim. 


ISTINCTION is so pleasing to the pride of 

man, that a great part of the pain and pleasure 
of life arises from the gratification or disappoint- 
ment of an incessant wish for superiority, from the 
success or miscarriage of secret competitions, from 
victories and defeats, of which, though they appear 
to us of great importance, in reality none are con- 
scious except ourselves. 

Proportionate to the prevalence of this love of 
praise is the variety of means by which its attain- 
ment is attempted. Every man however hopeless « 
his pretensions may appear to all but himself, has 
some project by which he hopes to rise to reputa- 
tion; some art by which he imagines that the notice 
of the world will be attracted; some quality, good 
or bad, which discriminates him from the common 
herd of mortals, and by which others may be per- 
suaded to love, or compelled to fear him. The 
ascents of honour, however steep, never appear in- 
accessible; he that despairs to scale the precipices 

320 


THE RAMBLER 


by which learning and valour have conducted their 
favourites, discovers some by-path, or easier accliv- 
ity, which, though it cannot bring him to the sum- 
mit, will yet enable him to overlook those with 
whom he is now contending for eminence; and we 
seldom require more to the happiness of the present 
hour, than to surpass him that stands next before us. 

As the greater part of human kind speak and act 
wholly by imitation, most of those who aspire to 
honour and applause propose to themselves some 
example which serves as the model of their con- 
duct, and the limit of their hopes. Almost every 
man, if closely examined, will be found to have en- 
listed himself under some leader whom he expects 
to conduct him to renown; to have some hero or 
other, living or dead, in his view, whose character 
he endeavours to assume, and whose performances 
he labours to equal. 

When the original is well chosen, and judiciously 
copied, the imitator often arrives at excellence, 
which he could never have attained without direc- 
tion; for few are formed with abilities to discover 
new possibilities of excellence, and to distinguish 
themselves by means never tried before. 

But folly and idleness often contrive to gratify 
pride. at a cheaper rate: not the qualities which are 
most illustrious, but those which are of easiest at- 
tainment, are selected for imitation; and the hon- 
ours and rewards which publick gratitude has paid 
to the benefactors of mankind, are expected by 


wretches who can only imitate them in their vices 
Vor. 3—21 321 


THE RAMBLER 


and defects, or adopt some petty singularities of 
which those from whom they are borrowed were 
secretly ashamed. 

No man rises to such a height as to become con- 
spicuous, but he is on one side censured by undis- 
cerning malice, which reproaches him for his best 
actions, and slanders his apparent and incontestable 
excellencies; and idolized on the other by ignorant 
admiration, which exalts his faults and follies into 
virtues. It may be observed, that he by whose inti- 
macy his acquaintances imagine themselves digni- 
fied, generally diffuses among them his mien and 
his habits; and indeed, without more vigilance than 
is generally applied to the regulation of the minu- 
ter parts of behaviour, it is not easy, when we con- 
verse much with one whose general character excites 
our veneration, to escape all contagion of his peculi- 
arities, even when we do not deliberately think them 
worthy of our notice, and when they would have 
excited laughter or disgust, had they not been pro- 
tected by their alliance to nobler qualities, and acci- 
dentally consorted with knowledge or with virtue. 

The faults of a man loved or honoured, sometimes 
steal secretly and imperceptibly upon the wise and 
virtuous, but, by injudicious fondness or thoughtless 
vanity, are adopted with design. There is scarce any 
failing of mind or body, any errour of opinion, or 
depravity of practice, which instead of producing 
shame and discontent, its natural effects, has not at 
one time or other gladdened vanity with the hopes 
of praise, and been displayed with ostentatious in- 

322 


THE RAMBLER 


dustry by those who sought kindred minds among 
the wits or heroes, and could prove their relation 
only by similitude of deformity. 

In consequence of this perverse ambition, every 
habit which reason condemns may be indulged and 
avowed. When a man is upbraided with his faults, 
he may indeed be pardoned if he endeavours to run 
for shelter to some celebrated name; but it is not 
to be suffered that, from the retreats to which he 
fled from infamy, he should issue again with the 
confidence of conquests, and call upon mankind 
for praise. Yet we see men that waste their patri- 
mony in luxury, destroy their health with debauch- 
ery, and enervate their minds with idleness, because 
there have been some whom luxury never could sink 
into contempt, nor idleness hinder from the praise 
of genius. 

This general inclination of mankind to copy char- 
acters in the gross, and the force which the recom- 
mendation of illustrious examples adds to the 
allurements of vice, ought to be considered by all 
whose character excludes them from the shades of 
secrecy, as incitements to scrupulous caution and 
universal purity of manners. No man, however en- 
slaved to his appetites, or hurried by his passions, 
can, while he preserves his intellects unimpaired, 
please himself with promoting the corruption of 
others. He whose merit has enlarged his influence, 
would surely wish to exert it for the benefit of man- 
kind. Yet such will be the effect of his reputation, 
while he suffers himself to indulge in any favourite 

323 


THE RAMBLER 


fault, that they who have no hope to reach his ex- 
cellence will catch at his failings, and his virtues will 
be cited to justify the copiers of his vices. 

It is particularly the duty of those who consign 
illustrious names to posterity, to take care lest their 
readers be misled by ambiguous examples. That 
writer may be justly condemned as an enemy to 
goodness, who suffers fondness or interest to con- 
found right with wrong, or to shelter the faults 
which even the wisest and the best have committed 
from that ignominy which guilt ought always to 
suffer, and with which it should be more deeply 
stigmatized when dignified by its neighbourhood to 
uncommon worth, since we shall be in danger of 
beholding it without abhorrence, unless its turpi- 
tude be laid open, and the eye secured from the 
deception of surrounding splendour. 


No. 165. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1751 


"Hy véos, adha révys vdv ynp@y, maobotog eter 
*Q pédvos 2x mdvtwy olxtpds ev ap.portépote, 

"Os tote pev ypjcbat Svvduny, dxd67 ob0 ey etyoy. 
Nov © éxéte ypjobat py ddvapnat, tét eyw. 


ANTIPHILUS. 
Young was I once and poor, now rich and old; 


A harder case than mine was never told; 
Blest with the power to use them—I had none; 
Loaded with riches now, the power is gone. F. Lewis. 


ee TO THE RAMBLER. 
HE writers who have undertaken the unprom- 
ising task of moderating desire, exert all the 
power of their eloquence, to shew that happiness is 
324 





THE RAMBLER 


not the lot of man, and have, by many arguments 
and examples, proved the instability of every con- 
dition by which envy or ambition are excited. They 
have set before our eyes all the calamities to which 
we are exposed from the frailty of nature, the in- 
fluence of accident, or the stratagems of malice; 
they have terrified greatness with conspiracies, and 
riches with anxieties, wit with criticism, and beauty 
with disease. 

All the force of reason, and all the charms of 
language, are indeed necessary to support positions 
which every man hears with a wish to confute them. 
Truth finds an easy entrance into the mind when 
she is introduced by desire, and attended by pleas- 
ure; but when she intrudes uncalled, and brings 
only fear and sorrow in her train, the passes of the 
intellect are barred against her by prejudice and 
passion; if she sometimes forces her way by the 
batteries of argument, she seldom long keeps pos- 
session of her conquests, but is ejected by some 
favoured enemy, or at best obtains only a nom- 
inal sovereignty, without influence and without 
authority. 

That life is short we are all convinced, and yet 
suffer not that conviction to repress our projects or 
limit our expectations; that life is miserable we all 
feel, and yet we believe that the time is near when 
we shall feel it no longer. But to hope happiness 
and immortality is equally vain. Our state may 
indeed be more or less embittered as our duration 
may be more or less contracted; yet the utmost 

$25 


THE RAMBLER 


felicity which we can ever attain will be little better 
than alleviation of misery, and we shall always feel 
more pain from our wants than pleasure from our 
enjoyments. The incident which I am going to 
relate will shew, that to destroy the effect of all our 
success, it is not necessary that any signal calamity 
should fall upon us, that we should be harassed by 
implacable persecution, or excruciated by irremedi- 
able pains: the brightest hours of prosperity have 
their clouds, and the stream of life, if it is not ruffled 
by obstructions, will grow putrid by stagnation. 

My father, resolving not to imitate the folly of 
his ancestors, who had hitherto left the younger sons 
encumbrances on the eldest, destined me to a lucra- 
tive profession; and I, being careful to lose no 
opportunity of improvement, was, at the usual time 
in which young men enter the world, well qualified 
for the exercise of the business which I had chosen. 

My eagerness to distinguish myself in publick, 
and my impatience of the narrow scheme of life to 
which my indigence confined me, did not suffer me 
to continue long in the town where I was born. I 
went away as from a place of confinement, with a 
resolution to return no more, till I should be able 
to dazzle with my splendour those who now looked 
upon me with contempt, to reward those who had 
paid honours to my dawning merit, and to shew all 
who had suffered me to glide by them unknown and 
neglected, how much they mistook their interest in 
omitting to propitiate a genius like mine. 

Such were my intentions when I sallied forth into 

326 


THE RAMBLER 


the unknown world, in quest of riches and honours, 
which I expected to procure in a very short time; 
for what could withhold them from industry and 
knowledge? He that indulges hope will always be 
disappointed. Reputation I very soon obtained ; but 
as merit is much more cheaply acknowledged than 
rewarded, I did not find myself yet enriched in pro- 
portion to my celebrity. 

IT had, however, in time, surmounted the obstacles 
by which envy and competition obstruct the first 
attempts of a new claimant, and saw my opponents 
and censurers tacitly confessing their despair of 
success, by courting my friendship and yielding to 
my influence. They who once pursued me, were 
now satisfied to escape from me; and they who had 
before thought me presumptuous in hoping to over- 
take them, had now their utmost wish, if they were 
permitted, at no great distance, quietly to follow me. 

My wants were not madly multiplied as my 
acquisitions increased, and the time came, at length, 
when I thought myself enabled to gratify all reason- 
able desires, and when, therefore, I resolved to en- 
joy that plenty and serenity which I had been 
hitherto labouring to procure, to enjoy them while 
I was yet neither crushed by age into infirmity, nor 
so habituated to a particular manner of life as to be 
unqualified for new studies or entertainments. 

I now quitted my profession, and, to set myself 
at once free from all importunities to resume it, 
changed my residence, and devoted the remaining 
part of my time to quiet and amusement. Amidst 

327 


THE RAMBLER 


innumerable projects of pleasure, which restless idle- 
ness incited me to form, and of which most, when 
they came to the moment of execution, were re- 
jected for others of no longer continuance, some 
accident revived in my imagination the pleasing 
ideas of my native place. It was now in my power 
to visit those from whom I had been so long absent, 
in such a manner as was consistent with my former 
resolution, and I wondered how it could happen 
that I had so long delayed my own happiness. 

Full of the admiration which I should excite, and 
the homage which I should receive, I dressed my 
servants in a more ostentatious livery, purchased a 
magnificent chariot, and resolved to dazzle the in- 
habitants of the little town with an unexpected 
blaze of greatness. 

While the preparations that vanity required were 
made for my departure, which, as workmen will 
not easily be hurried beyond their ordinary rate, I 
thought very tedious, I solaced my impatience with 
imaging the various censures that my appearance 
would produce; the hopes which some would feel 
from my bounty; the terrour which my power 
would strike on others; the awkward respect with 
which I should be accosted by timorous officious- 
ness; and the distant reverence with which others, 
less familiar to splendour ‘and dignity, would be 
contented to gaze upon me. I deliberated a long 
time, whether I should immediately descend to a 
level with my former acquaintances; or make my 


condescension more grateful by a gentle transition 
328 


THE RAMBLER 


from haughtiness and reserve. At length I deter- 
mined to forget some of my companions, till they 
discovered themselves by some indubitable token, 
and to receive the congratulations of others upon 
my good fortune with indifference, to shew that I 
always expected what I had now obtained. The 
acclamations of the populace I purposed to reward 
with six hogsheads of ale, and a roasted ox, and then 
recommend to them to return to their work. 

At last all the trappings of grandeur were fitted, 
and I began the journey of triumph, which I could 
have wished to have ended in the same moment; 
but my horses felt none of their master’s ardour, 
and I was shaken four days upon rugged roads. I 
then entered the town, and, having graciously let 
fall the glasses, that my person might be seen, 
passed slowly through the street. The noise of the 
wheels brought the inhabitants to their doors, but 
I could not perceive that I was known by them. 
At last I alighted, and my name, I suppose, was 
told by my servants, for the barber stepped from 
the opposite house, and seized me by the hand with 
honest joy in his countenance, which, according to 
the rule that I had prescribed to myself, I repressed 
with a frigid graciousness. The fellow, instead of 
sinking into dejection, turned away with contempt, 
and left me to consider how the second salutation 
should be received. The next fellow was better 
treated, for I soon found that I must purchase by 
civility that regard which I had expected to enforce 
by insolence. 

329 


THE RAMBLER 


There was yet no smoke of bonfires, no harmony 
of bells, no shout of crowds, nor riot of joy; the 
business of the day went forward as before; and, 
after having ordered a splendid supper, which no 
man came to partake, and which my chagrin hin- 
dered me from tasting, I went to bed, where the 
vexation of disappointment overpowered the fatigue 
of my journey, and kept me from sleep. 

I rose so much humbled by those mortifications, 
as to inquire after the present state of the town, and 
found that I had been absent too long to obtain the 
triumph which had flattered my expectation. Of 
the friends whose compliments I expected, some 
had long ago moved to distant provinces, some had 
lost in the maladies of age all sense of another’s 
prosperity, and some had forgotten our former in- 
timacy amidst care and distresses. Of three whom 
I had resolved to punish for their former offences 
by a longer continuance of neglect, one was, by his 
own industry, raised above my scorn, and two were 
sheltered from it in the grave. All those whom I\ 
loved, feared, or hated, all whose envy or whose 
kindness I had hopes of contemplating with pleas- 
ure, were swept away, and their place was filled by 
a new generation with other views and other com- 
petitions; and among many proofs of the impotence 
of wealth, I found that it conferred upon me very 
few distinctions in my native place. 


I am, Sir, &c. 
SEROTINUS. 


330 


THE RAMBLER 


No. 166. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1751 


Semper, eris pauper st pauper es, Aimiliane: 
Dantur opes nullis nune nisi divitibus. 
Marr. Lib. v. Ep. Ixxxi. 


Once poor, my friend, still poor you must remain, 
The rich alone have all the means of gain. Epw. Cave. 


O complaint has been more frequently repeated 
in all ages than that of the neglect of merit as- 
sociated with poverty, and the difficulty with which 
valuable or pleasing qualities force themselves into 
view, when they are obscured by indigence. It has 
been long observed, that native beauty has little 
power to charm without the ornaments which for- 
tune bestows, and that to want the favour of others 
is often sufficient to hinder us from obtaining it. 
Every day discovers that mankind are not yet 
convinced of their errour, or that their conviction 
is without power to influence their conduct; for 
poverty still continues to produce contempt, and 
still obstructs the claims of kindred and of virtue. 
The eye of wealth is elevated towards higher sta- 
tions, and seldom descends to examine the actions 
of those who are placed below the level of its no- 
tice, and who in distant regions and lower situations 
are struggling with distress, or toiling for bread. 
Among the multitudes overwhelmed with insuper- 
able calamity, it is common to find those whom a 
very little assistance would enable to support them- 
selves with decency, and who yet cannot obtain 
from near relations, what they see hourly lavished 
in ostentation, luxury, or frolick. 
331 


THE RAMBLER 


There are natural reasons why poverty does not 
easily conciliate affection. He that has been con- 
fined from his infancy to the conversation of the 
lowest classes of mankind, must necessarily want 
those accomplishments which are the usual means 
of attracting favour; and though truth, fortitude, 
and probity, give an indisputable right to reverence 
and kindness, they will not be distinguished by 
common eyes, unless they are brightened by ele- 
gance of manners, but are cast aside like unpolished 
gems, of which none but the artist knows the in- 
trinsick value, till their asperities are smoothed, and 
their incrustations rubbed away. 

The grossness of vulgar habits obstructs the effi- 
eacy of virtue, as impurity and harshness of style 
impair the force of reason, and rugged numbers 
turn off the mind from artifice of disposition, and 
fertility of invention. Few have strength of reason 
to over-rule the perceptions of sense; and yet fewer 
have curiosity or benevolence to struggle long 
against the first impression; he therefore who fails — 
to please in his salutation and address, is at once 
rejected, and never obtains an opportunity of shew- 
ing his latent excellencies, or essential qualities. 

It is, indeed, not easy to prescribe a successful 
manner of approach to the distressed or necessitous, 
whose condition subjects every kind of behaviour 
equally to miscarriage. He whose confidence of 
merit incites him to meet, without any apparent 
sense of inferiority, the eyes of those who flattered 
themselves with their own dignity, is considered as 

332 


THE RAMBLER 


an insolent leveller, impatient of the just preroga- 
tives of rank and wealth, eager to usurp the station 
to which he has no right, and to confound the sub- 
ordinations of society; and who would contribute 
to the exaltation of that spirit which even want and 
calamity are not able to restrain from rudeness and 
rebellion ? 

But no better success will commonly be found 
to attend servility and dejection, which often give 
pride the confidence to treat them with contempt. 
A request made with diffidence and timidity is 
easily denied, because the petitioner himself seems 
to doubt its fitness. 

Kindness is generally reciprocal; we are desirous 
of pleasing others, because we receive pleasure from 
them; but by what means can the man please, 
whose attention is engrossed by his distresses, and 
who has no leisure to be officious; whose will is re- 
strained by his necessities, and who has no power 
to confer benefits; whose temper is perhaps vitiated 
by misery, and whose understanding is impeded by 
ignorance ? 

It is yet a more offensive discouragement, that 
the same actions performed by different hands pro- 
duce different effects, and, instead of rating the man 
by his performances, we rate too frequently the 
performance by the man. It sometimes happens in 
the combinations of life, that important services 
are performed by inferiors; but though their zeal 
and activity may be paid by pecuniary rewards, 
they seldom excite that flow of gratitude, or obtain 

333 


THE RAMBLER 


that accumulation of recompense, with which all 
think it their duty to acknowledge the favour of 
those who descend to their assistance from a higher 
elevation. To be obliged, is to be in some respect 
inferior to another’; and few willingly indulge the 
memory of an action which raises one whom they 
have always been accustomed to think below them, 
but satisfy themselves with faint praise and penuri- 
ous payment, and then drive it from their own 
minds, and endeavour to conceal it from the knowl- 
edge of others. 

It may be always objected to the services of those 
who can be supposed to want a reward, that they 
were produced not by kindness but interest; they 
are, therefore, when they are no longer wanted, 
easily disregarded as arts of insinuation, or strata- 
gems of selfishness. Benefits which are received as 
gifts from wealth, are exacted as debts from indi- 
gence; and he that in a high station is celebrated 
for superfluous goodness, would in a meaner con- 
dition have barely been confessed to have done 
his duty. 

It is scarcely possible for the utmost benevolence 
to oblige, when exerted under the disadvantages of 
great inferiority; for, by the habitual arrogance of 
wealth, such expectations are commonly formed as 
no zeal or industry can satisfy; and what regard 

f Sir Joshua Reynolds evinced great reach of mind and intimate ac- 
quaintance with humanity, when he observed, on overhearing a person 
condoling with some ladies on the death of one who had conferred the 


greatest favours upon them, that at all events they were relieved from 
the burden of gratitude. 


334 


THE RAMBLER 


can he hope, who has done less than was demanded 
from him ? 

There are indeed kindnesses conferred which were 
never purchased by precedent favours, and there is 
an affection not arising from gratitude or gross 
interest, by which similar natures are attracted to 
each other, without prospect of any other advantage 
than the pleasure of exchanging sentiments, and 
the hope of confirming their esteem of themselves 
by the approbation of each other. But this spon- 
taneous fondness seldom rises at the sight of 
poverty, which every one regards with habitual con- 
tempt, and of which the applause is no more courted 
by vanity, than the countenance is solicited by 
ambition. The most generous and disinterested 
friendship must be resolved at last into the love of 
ourselves; he therefore whose reputation or dignity 
inclines us to consider his esteem as a testimonial 
of desert, will always find our hearts open to his 
endearments. We every day see men of eminence 
followed with all the obsequiousness of dependance, 
and courted with all the blandishments of flattery, 
by those who want nothing from them but profes- 
sions of regard, and who think themselves liberally 
rewarded by a bow, a smile, or an embrace. 

But those prejudices which every mind feels more 
or less in favour of riches, ought, like other opinions, 
which only custom and example have impressed 
upon us, to be in time subjected to reason. We 
must learn how to separate the real character from 
extraneous adhesions and casual circumstances, to 

335 


THE RAMBLER 


consider closely him whom we are about to adopt 
or to reject; to regard his inclinations as well as his 
actions; to trace out those virtues which lie torpid 
in the heart for want of opportunity, and those vices 
that lurk unseen by the absence of temptation; 
that when we find worth faintly shooting in the 
shades of obscurity, we may let in light and sun- 
shine upon it, and ripen barren volition into efficacy 
and power. 


_No. 16%.” TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1751 


Candida perpetuo reside, Concordia, lecto, 
Tamque pari semper sit Venus aqua jugo. 
Diligat illa senem quondam: sed et ipsa marito, 
Tum quoque cum fuerit, non videatur, anus. 
Mart. Lib. iv. xii. 7. 


Their nuptial bed may smiling concord dress, 

And Venus still the happy union bless! 

Wrinkled with age, may mutual love and truth 

To their dim eyes recall the bloom of youth. F. Lewts. 


naa TO THE RAMBLER. 

T is not common to envy those with whom we 

cannot easily be placed in comparison. Every man 
sees without malevolence the progress of another in 
the tracks of life, which he has himself no desire to 
tread, and hears, without inclination to cavils or 
contradiction, the renown of those whose distance 
will not suffer them to draw the attention of man- 
kind from his own merit. The sailor never thinks it 
necessary to contest the lawyer’s abilities; nor would 
the Rambler, however jealous of his reputation, be 
much disturbed by the success of rival wits at Agra 
or Ispahan. 

336 


THE RAMBLER 


We do not therefore ascribe to you any super- 
lative degree of virtue, when we believe that we 
may inform you of our change of condition without 
danger of malignant fascination; and that when 
you read of the marriage of your correspondents 
Hymeneus and Tranquilla, you will join your 
wishes to those of their other friends for the happy 
event of an union in which ecaprice and selfishness 
had so little part. 

There is at least this reason why we should be less 
deceived in our connubial hopes than many who 
enter into the same state, that we have allowed our 
minds to form no unreasonable expectations, nor 
vitiated our fancies in the soft hours of courtship, 
with visions of felicity which human power cannot 
bestow, or of perfection which human virtue can- 
not attain. That impartiality with which we en- 
deavour to inspect the manners of all whom we 
have known was never so much overpowered by our 
passion, but that we discovered some faults and 
weaknesses in each other; and joined our hands in 
conviction, that as there are advantages to be en- 
joyed in marriage, there are inconveniences likewise 
to be endured; and that, together with confederate 
intellects and auxiliar virtues, we must find different 
opinions and opposite inclinations. 

We however flatter ourselves, for who is not 
flattered by himself as well as by others on the day 
of marriage ? that we are eminently qualified to give 
mutual pleasure. Our birth is without any such 


remarkable disparity as can give either an oppor- 
Vo. 3—22 337 


THE RAMBLER 


tunity of insulting the other with pompous names 
and splendid alliances, or of calling in, upon any 
domestick controversy, the overbearing assistance 
of powerful relations. Our fortune was equally suit- 
able, so that we meet without any of those obliga- 
tions, which always produce reproach or suspicion 
of reproach, which, though they may be forgotten 
in the gaieties of the first month, no delicacy will 
always suppress, or of which the suppression must 
be considered as a new favour, to be repaid by tame- 
ness and submission, till gratitude takes the place 
of love, and the desire of pleasing degenerates by 
degrees into the fear of offending. 

The settlements caused no delay; for we did not 
trust our affairs to the negociation of wretches, 
who would have paid their court by multiplying 
stipulations. Tranquilla scorned to detain any part 
of her fortune from him into whose hands she de- 
livered up her person; and Hymeneus thought no 
act of baseness more criminal than his who enslaves 
his wife by her own generosity, who by marrying 
without a jointure, condemns her to all the dangers 
of accident and caprice, and at last boasts his liber- 
ality, by granting what only the indiscretion of her 
kindness enabled him to withhold. He therefore re- 
ceived on the common terms the portion which any 
other woman might have brought him, and reserved 
all the exuberance of acknowledgment for those 
excellencies which he has yet been able to discover 
only in Tranquilla. 

We did not pass the weeks of courtship like 

338 


THE RAMBLER 


those who consider themselves as taking the last 
draught of pleasure, and resolve not to quit the 
bowl without a surfeit, or who know themselves 
about to set happiness to hazard, and endeavour to 
lose their sense of danger in the ebriety of per- 
petual amusement, and whirl round the gulph be- 
fore they sink. Hymenzus often repeated a medical 
axiom, that the swccours of sickness ought not to be 
wasted in health. We know that however our eyes 
may yet sparkle, and our hearts bound at the pres- 
ence of each other, the time of listlessness and 
satiety, of peevishness and discontent, must come 
at last, in which we shall be driven for relief to 
shows and recreations; that the uniformity of life 
must be sometimes diversified, and the vacuities of 
conversation sometimes supplied. We rejoice in the 
reflection that we have stores of novelty yet unex- 
hausted, which may be opened when repletion shall 
call for change, and gratifications yet untasted, by 
which life, when it shall become vapid or bitter, 
may be restored to its former sweetness and spright- 
liness, and again irritate the appetite, and again 
sparkle in the cup. 

Our time will probably be less tasteless than that 
of those whom the authority and avarice of parents 
unite almost without their consent in the early 
years, before they have accumulated any fund of 
reflection, or collected materials for mutual enter- 
tainment. Such we have often seen rising in the 
morning to cards, and retiring in the afternoon to 
doze, whose happiness was celebrated by their 

339 


THE RAMBLER 


neighbours, because they happened to grow rich 
by parsimony, and to be kept quiet in insensibility, 
and agreed to eat and to sleep together. 

We have both mingled with the world, and are 
therefore no strangers to the faults and virtues, the 
designs and competitions, the hopes and fears of 
our contemporaries. We have both amused our 
leisure with books, and can therefore recount the 
events of former times, or cite the dictates of an- 
cient wisdom. Every occurrence furnishes us with 
some hint which one or the other can improve, and 
if it should happen that memory or imagination 
fail us, we can retire to no idle or unimproving 
solitude. 

Though our characters, beheld at a distance, ex- 
hibit this general resemblance, yet a nearer inspec- 
tion discovers such a dissimilitude of our habitudes 
and sentiments, as leaves each some peculiar advan- 
tages, and affords that concordia discors, that suit- 
able: disagreement which is always necessary to 
intellectual harmony. There may be a total diversity 
of ideas which admits no participation of the same 
delight, and there may likewise be such a conform- 
ity of notions as leaves neither any thing to add to 
the decisions of the other. With such contrariety 
there can be no peace, with such similarity there 
can be no pleasure. Our reasonings, though often 
formed upon different views, terminate generally in 
the same conclusion. Our thoughts, like rivulets 
issuing from distant springs, are each impregnated 
in its course with various mixtures, and tinged by 

340 


THE RAMBLER 


infusions unknown to the other, yet, at last, easily 
unite into one stream, and purify themselves by the 
gentle effervescence of contrary qualities. 

These benefits we receive in a greater degree as 
we converse without reserve, because we have noth- 
ing to conceal. We have no debts to be paid by 
imperceptible deductions from avowed expenses, 
no habits to be indulged by the private subserviency 
of a favoured servant, no private interviews with 
needy relations, no intelligence with spies placed 
upon each other. We considered marriage as the 
most solemn league of perpetual friendship, a state 
from which artifice and concealment are to be ban- 
ished for ever, and in which every act of dissimula- 
tion is a breach of faith. 

The impetuous vivacity of youth, and that ar- 
dour of desire, which the first sight of pleasure 
naturally produces, have long ceased to hurry us 
into irregularity and vehemence; and experience 
has shewn us that few gratifications are too valu- 
able to be sacrificed to complaisance. We have 
thought it convenient to rest from the fatigue of 
pleasure, and now only continue that course of life 
into which we had before entered, confirmed in our 
choice by mutual approbation, supported in our 
resolution by mutual encouragement, and assisted 
in our efforts by mutual exhortation. 

Such, Mr. Rambler, is our prospect of life, a pros- 
pect which, as it is beheld with more attention, 
seems to open more extensive happiness, and spreads, 
by degrees, into the boundless regions of eternity. 

341 


THE RAMBLER 


But if all our prudence has been vain, and we are 
doomed to give one instance more of the uncer- 
tainty of human discernment, we shall comfort our- 
selves amidst our disappointments, that we were 
not betrayed but by such delusions as caution could 
not escape, since we sought happiness only in the 
arms of virtue. 


We are, Sir, 
Your humble Servants, 


HYMEN 2US. 
TRANQUILLA. 


No. 168. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1751 





Decipit 

Frons prima multos: rara mens intelligit, 

Quod interiore condidtt cura angulo. 

Puaprvs, Lib. iv. Fab. i. 5. 


The tinsel glitter, and the specious mien, 
Delude the most; few pry behind the scene. 


[* has been observed by Boileau, that ‘‘a mean 
or common thought expressed in pompous dic- 
tion, generally pleases more than a new or noble 
sentiment delivered in low and vulgar language; 
because the number is greater of those whom cus- 
tom has enabled to judge of words, than whom 
study has qualified to examine things. ’”’ 

This solution might satisfy, if such only were of- 
fended with meanness of expression as are unable 
to distinguish propriety of thought, and to separate 
propositions or images from the vehicles by which 
they are conveyed to the understanding. But this 

342 


THE RAMBLER 


kind of disgust is by no means confined to the 
ignorant or superficial; it operates uniformly and 
universally upon readers of all classes; every man, 
however profound or abstracted, perceives himself 
irresistibly alienated by low terms; they who pro- 
fess the most zealous adherence to truth are forced 
to admit that she owes part of her charms to her 
ornaments; and loses much of her power over the 
soul, when she appears disgraced by a dress uncouth 
or ill-adjusted. 

We are all offended by low terms, but are not 
disgusted alike by the same compositions, because 
we do not all agree to censure the same terms as 
low. No word is naturally or intrinsically meaner 
than another; our opinion therefore of words, as of 
other things arbitrarily and capriciously established, 
depends wholly upon accident and custom. The 
cottager thinks those apartments splendid and spa- 
cious, which an inhabitant of palaces will despise 
for their inelegance; and to him who has passed 
most of his hours with the delicate and polite, many 
expressions will seem sordid, which another, equally 
acute, may hear without offence; but a mean term 
never fails to displease him to whom it appears 
mean, as poverty is certainly and invariably despised, 
though he who is poor in the eyes of some, may, 
by others, be envied for his wealth. 

Words become low by the occasions to which 
they are applied, or the general character of them 
who use them; and the disgust which they produce, 
arises from the revival of those images with which 

343 


THE RAMBLER 


they are commonly united. Thus if, in the most 
solemn discourse, a phrase happens to occur which 
has been successfully employed in some ludicrous 
narrative, the gravest auditor finds it difficult to re- 
frain from laughter, when they who are not prepos- 
sessed by the same accidental association, are utterly 
unable to guess the reason of his merriment. Words 
which convey ideas of dignity in one age, are ban- 
ished from elegant writing or conversation in an- 
other, because they are in time debased by vulgar 
mouths, and can be no longer heard without the 
involuntary recollection of unpleasing images. 
When Macbeth is confirming himself in the horrid 
purpose of stabbing his king, he breaks out amidst 
his emotions into a wish natural to a murderer: 


Come, thick night! 

And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 

That my keen knife see not the wound it makes; 
Nor heav’n peep through the blanket of the dark, 
To cry, Hold! hold! 








In this passage is exerted all the force of poetry; 
that force which calls new powers into being, which 
embodies sentiment, and animates matter: yet, per- 
haps, scarce any man now peruses it without some 
disturbance of his attention from the counteraction 
of the words to the ideas. What can be more dread- 
ful than to implore the presence of night, invested, 
not in common obscurity, but in the smoke of hell ? 
Yet the efficacy of this invocation is destroyed by 
the insertion of an epithet now seldom heard but in 
the stable, and dwn night may come or go without 
any other notice than contempt. 
344 


THE RAMBLER 


If we start into raptures when some hero of the 
Thiad tells us that 6600 patverar, his lance rages with 
eagerness to destroy; if we are alarmed at the ter- 
rour of the soldiers commanded by Cesar to hew 
down the sacred grove, who dreaded, says Lucan, 
lest the axe aimed at the oak should fly back upon 
the striker: 


Si robora sacra ferirent, 
In sua credebant redituras membra secures; 





None dares with impious steel the grove to rend, 

Lest on himself the destin’d stroke descend; 
we cannot surely but sympathise with the horrours 
of a wretch about to murder his master, his friend, 
his benefactor, who suspects that the weapon will 
refuse its office, and start back from the breast 
which he is preparing to violate. Yet this sentiment 
is weakened by the name of an instrument used by 
butchers and cooks in the meanest employments: 
we do not immediately conceive that any crime of 
importance is to be committed with a knife ; or who 
does not, at last, from the long habit of connecting 
a knife with sordid offices, feel aversion rather than 
terrour ? 

Macbeth proceeds to wish, in the madness of 
guilt, that the inspection of heaven may be inter- 
cepted, and that he may, in the involutions of in- 
fernal darkness, escape the eye of Providence. This 
is the utmost extravagance of determined wicked- 
ness; yet this is so debased by two unfortunate 
words, that while I endeavour to impress on my 
reader the energy of the sentiment, I can scarce 

B45 


THE RAMBLER 


check my risibility, when the expression forces itself 
upon my mind; for who, without some relaxation 
of his gravity, can hear of the avengers of guilt 
peeping through a blanket ? 

These imperfections of diction are less obvious to 
the reader, as he is less acquainted with common 
usages; they are therefore wholly imperceptible to 
a foreigner, who learns our language from books, 
and will strike a solitary academick less forcibly 
than a modish lady. 

Among the numerous requisites that must con- 
cur to complete an author, few are of more import- 
ance than an early entrance into the living world. 
The seeds of knowledge may be planted in solitude, 
but must be cultivated in publick. Argumentation 
may be taught in colleges, and theories formed in 
retirement; but the artifice of embellishment, and 
the powers of attraction, can be gained only Dy 
general converse. 

An acquaintance with prevailing customs and 
fashionable elegance is necessary likewise for other 
purposes. The injury that grand imagery suffers 
from unsuitable language, personal merit may fear 
from rudeness and indelicacy. When the success of 
ineas depended on the favour of the queen upon 
whose coasts he was driven, his celestial protectress 
thought him not sufficiently secured against rejec- 
tion by his piety or bravery, but decorated him for 
the interview with preternatural beauty. Whoever 
desires, for his writings or himself, what none can 
reasonably contemn, the favour of mankind, must 

346 


THE RAMBLER 


add grace to strength, and make his thoughts agree- 
able as well as useful. Many complain of neglect 
who never tried to attract regard. It cannot be ex- 
pected that the patrons of science or virtue should 
be solicitous to discover excellencies, which they 
who possess them shade and disguise. Few have 
abilities so much needed by the rest of the world 
as to be caressed on their own terms; and he that 
will not condescend to recommend himself by ex- 
ternal embellishments, must submit to the fate of 
just sentiment meanly expressed, and be ridiculed 
and forgotten before he is understood. 


No. 169. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1751 


Nec pluteum cedit, nec demorsos sapit ungues. 
Per. Sat. i. 106. 


No blood from bitten nails those poems drew; 
But churn’d, like spittle, from the lips they flew. Drypen. 


ATURAL historians assert, that whatever is 

formed for long duration arrives slowly to its 
maturity. Thus the firmest timber is of tardy 
growth, and animals generally exceed each other in 
longevity, in proportion to the time between their 
conception and their birth. 

The same observation may be extended to the 
offspring of the mind. Hasty compositions, however 
they please at first by flowery luxuriance, and spread 
in the sunshine of temporary favour, can seldom 
endure the change of seasons, but perish at the first 
blast of criticism, or frost of neglect. When Apelles 
was reproached with the paucity of his productions, 

347 


THE RAMBLER 


and the incessant attention with which he retouched 
his pieces, he condescended to make no other answer 
than that he painted for perpetuity. 

No vanity can more justly incur contempt and 
indignation than that which boasts of negligence 
and hurry. For who can bear with patience the 
writer who claims such superiority to the rest of his 
species, as to imagine that mankind are at leisure 
for attention to his extemporary sallies, and that 
posterity will reposite his casual effusions among the 
treasures of ancient wisdom ? 

Men have sometimes appeared of such transcend- 
ent abilities, that their slightest and most cursory 
performances excel all that labour and study can 
enable meaner intellects to compose; as there are 
regions of which the spontaneous products cannot 
be equalled in other soils by care and culture. But 
it is no less dangerous for any man to place himself 
in this rank of understanding, and fancy that he is 
born to be illustrious without labour, than to omit 
_ the cares of husbandry, and expect from his ground 
the blossoms of Arabia. 

The greatest part of those who congratulate them- 
selves upon their intellectual dignity, and usurp the 
privileges of genius, are men whom only themselves 
would ever have marked out as enriched by uncom- 
mon liberalities of nature, or entitled to veneration 
and immortality on easy terms. This ardour of con- 
fidence is usually found among those who, having 
not enlarged their notions by books or conversation, 
are persuaded, by the partiality which we all feel in 

348 


THE RAMBLER 


our own favour, that they have reached the summit 
of excellence, because they discover none higher 
than themselves; and who acquiesce in the first 
thoughts that occur, because their scantiness of 
knowledge allows them little choice; and the narrow- 
ness of their views affords them no glimpse of per- 
fection, of that sublime idea which human industry 
has from the first ages been vainly toiling to ap- 
proach. They see a little, and believe that there 
is nothing beyond their sphere of vision, as the 
Patuecos of Spain, who inhabited a small valley, 
conceived the surrounding mountains to be the 
boundaries of the world. In proportion as perfection 
is more distinctly conceived, the pleasure of con- 
templating our own performances will be lessened ; 
it may therefore be observed, that they who most 
deserve praise are often afraid to decide in favour 
of their own performances; they know how much 
is still wanting to their completion, and wait with 
anxiety and terrour the determination of the pub- 
lick. I please every one else, says Tully, but never 
satisfy myself. 

It has often been inquired, why, notwithstanding 
the advances of later ages in science, and the assist- 
ance which the infusion of so many new ideas has 
given us, we fall below the ancients in the art of 
composition. Some part of their superiority may 
be justly ascribed to the graces of their language, 
from which the most polished of the present Kuro- 
pean tongues are nothing more than barbarous 
degenerations. Some advantage they might gain 

349 


THE RAMBLER 


merely by priority, which put them in possession 
of the most natural sentiments, and left us nothing 
but servile repetition or forced conceits. But the 
greater part of their praise seems to have been the 
just reward of modesty and labour. Their sense of 
human weakness confined them commonly to one 
study, which their knowledge of the extent of 
every science engaged them to prosecute with in- 
defatigable diligence. 

Among the writers of antiquity I remember 
none except Statius who ventures to mention the 
speedy production of his writings, either as an ex- 
tenuation of his faults, or a proof of his facility. 
Nor did Statius, when he considered himself as a 
candidate for lasting reputation, think a closer at- 
tention unnecessary, but amidst all his pride and 
indigence, the two great hasteners of modern po- 
ems, employed twelve years upon the Thebaid, and 
thinks his claim to renown proportionate to his 
labour. 


Thebais, multa cruciata lima, 
Tentat, audaci fide, Mantuane 
Gaudia fame. 


Polish’d with endless toil, my lays 
At length aspire to Mantuan praise. 


Ovid indeed apologizes in his banishment for the 
imperfection of his letters, but mentions his want 
of leisure to polish them as an addition to his 
calamities; and was so far from imagining revisals 
and corrections unnecessary, that at his departure 
from Rome, he threw his Metamorphoses into the 

350 


THE RAMBLER 


fire, lest he should be disgraced by a book which 
he could not hope to finish. 

It seems not often to have happened that the 
same writer aspired to reputation in verse and 
prose; and of those few that attempted such diver- 
sity of excellence, I know not that even one suc- 
ceeded. Contrary characters they never imagined a 
single mind able to support, and therefore no man 
is recorded to have undertaken more than one kind 
of dramatick poetry. 

What they had written, they did not venture in 
their first fondness to thrust into the world, but, 
considering the impropriety of sending forth incon- 
siderately that which cannot be recalled, deferred 
the publication, if not nine years, according to the 
direction of Horace, yet till their fancy was cooled 
after the raptures of invention, and the glare of 
novelty had ceased to dazzle the judgment. 

There were in those days no weekly or diurnal 
writers; multa dies et multa litura, much time, and 
many rasures, were considered as indispensable 
requisites; and that no other method of attaining 
lasting praise has been yet discovered, may be con- 
jectured from the blotted manuscripts of Milton 
now remaining, and from the tardy emission of 
Pope’s compositions, delayed more than once till 
the incidents to which they alluded were forgotten, 
till his enemies were secure from his satire, and, 
what to an honest mind must be more painful, his 
friends were deaf to his encomiums. 

To him, whose eagerness of praise hurries his 

351 


THE RAMBLER 


productions soon into the light, many imperfections 
are unavoidable, even where the mind furnishes the 
materials, as well as regulates their disposition, and 
nothing depends upon search or information. Delay 
opens new veins of thought, the subject dismissed 
for a time appears with a new train of dependent 
images, the accidents of reading our conversation 
supply new ornaments or allusions, or mere inter- 
mission of the fatigue of thinking enables the mind 
to collect new force, and make new excursions. But 
all those benefits come too late for him, who, when 
he was weary with labour, snatched at the recom- 
pense, and gave his work to his friends and _ his 
enemies, as soon as impatience and pride persuaded 
him to conclude it. 

One of the most pernicious effects of haste, is 
obscurity. He that teems with a quick succession 
of ideas, and perceives how one sentiment produces 
another, easily believes that he can clearly express 
what he so strongly comprehends; he seldom sus- 
pects his thoughts of embarrassment, while he pre- 
serves in his own memory the series of connection, 
or his diction of ambiguity, while only one sense is 
present to his mind. Yet if he has been employed 
on an abstruse, or complicated argument, he will 
find, when he has awhile withdrawn his mind, and 
returns as a new reader to his work, that he has only 
a conjectural glimpse of his own meaning, and that 
to explain it to those whom he desires to instruct, 
he must open his sentiments, disentangle his method, 
and alter his arrangement. 

352 


THE RAMBLER 


- Authors and lovers always suffer some infatua- 
tion, from which only absence can set them free; 
and every man ought to restore himself to the full 
exercise of his judgment, before he does that which 
he cannot do improperly, without injuring his hon- 
our and his quiet. 


No. 170. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1751 


Confiteor; si quid prodest delicta fateri. 
Ovip. Am. Lib. i. El. iv. 3. 


I grant the charge; forgive the fault confess’d. 
ari: TO THE RAMBLER. 

AM one of those beings from whom many, that 

melt at the sight of all other misery, think it 
meritorious to withhold relief; one whom the rigour 
of virtuous indignation dooms to suffer without 
complaint, and perish without regard; and whom [I 
myself have formerly insulted in the pride of repu- 
tation and security of innocence. 

I am of a good family, but my father was bur- 
thened with more children than he could decently 
support. A wealthy relation, as he travelled from 
London to his country-seat, condescending to make 
him a visit, was touched with compassion of his 
narrow fortune, and resolved to ease him of part of 
his charge, by taking the care of a child upon him- 
self. Distress on one side, and ambition on the other, 
were too powerful for parental fondness, and the 
little family passed in review before him, that he 


might make his choice. I was then ten years old, 
VoL. 3—23 353 


THE RAMBLER 


and, without knowing for what purpose, I was called 
to my great cousin, endeavoured to recommend 
myself by my best courtesy, sung him my prettiest 
song, told the last story that I had read, and so 
much endeared myself by my innocence, that he 
declared his resolution to adopt me, and to educate 
me with his own daughters. 

My parents felt the common struggles at the 
thought of parting, and some natural tears they 
dropp’d, but wip’d them soon. They considered, not 
without that false estimation of the value of wealth, 
which poverty long continued always produces, 
that I was raised to higher rank than they could 
give me, and to hopes of more ample fortune than 
they could bequeath. My mother sold some of her 
ornaments to dress me in such a manner as might 
secure me from contempt at my first arrival; and 
when she dismissed me, pressed me to her bosom 
with an embrace that I still feel, gave me some 
precepts of piety, which, however neglected, I have 
not forgotten, and uttered prayers for my final hap- 
piness, of which I have not yet ceased to hope that 
they will at last be granted. 

My sisters envied my new finery, and seemed 
not much to regret our separation; my father con- 
ducted me to the stage-coach with a kind of cheerful 
tenderness; and in a very short time I was trans- 
ported to splendid apartments, and a luxurious table, 
and grew familiar to shew, noise, and gaiety. 

In three years my mother died, having implored 
a blessing on her family with her last breath. I had 

354 


THE RAMBLER 


little opportunity to indulge a sorrow which there 
was none to partake with me, and therefore soon 
ceased to reflect much upon my loss. My father 
turned all his care upon his other children, whom 
some fortunate adventures and unexpected lega- 
cies enabled him, when he died, four years after 
my mother, to leave in a condition above their 
expectations. 

I should have shared the increase of his fortune, 
and had once a portion assigned me in his will; but 
my cousin assuring him that all care for me was 
needless, since he had resolved to place me happily 
in the world, directed him to divide my part amongst 
my sisters. 

Thus I was thrown upon dependance without 
resource. Being now at an age in which young 
women are initiated into company, I was no longer 
to be supported in my former character, but at a 
considerable expense; so that partly lest I should 
waste money, and partly lest my appearance might 
draw too many compliments and assiduities, I was 
insensibly degraded from my equality, and enjoyed 
few privileges above the head servant, but that of 
receiving no wages. 

I felt every indignity, but knew that resentment 
would precipitate my fall. I therefore endeavoured 
to continue my importance by little services and 
active officiousness, and, for a time, preserved myself 
from neglect, by withdrawing all pretences to com- 
petition, and studying to please rather than to shine. 
But my interest, notwithstanding this expedient, 

335 


THE RAMBLER 


hourly declined, and my cousin’s favourite maid 
began to exchange repartees with me, and consult 
me about the alterations of a cast gown. 

I was now completely depressed; and, though I 
had seen mankind enough to know the necessity 
of outward cheerfulness, I often withdrew to my 
chamber to vent my grief, or turn my condition in 
my mind, and examine by what means I might 
escape from perpetual mortification. At last my 
schemes and sorrows were interrupted by a sudden 
change of my relation’s behaviour, who one day 
took an occasion when we were left together in a 
room, to bid me suffer myself no longer to be in- 
sulted, but assume the place which he always 
intended me to hold in the family. He assured me 
that his wife’s preference of her own daughters 
should never hurt me; and, accompanying his pro- 
fessions with a purse of gold, ordered me to bespeak 
a rich suit at the mercers, and to apply privately to 
him for money when I wanted it, and insinuate 
that my other friends supplied me, which he would 
take care to confirm. 

By this stratagem, which I did not then under- 
stand, he filled me with tenderness and gratitude, 
compelled me to repose on him as my only support, 
and produced a necessity of private conversation. 
He often appointed interviews at the house of an 
acquaintance, and sometimes called on me with a 
coach, and carried me abroad. My sense of his 
favour, and the desire of retaining it, disposed me 
to unlimited complaisance, and, though I saw his 

356 


THE RAMBLER 


kindness grow every day more fond, I did not suffer 
any suspicion to enter my thoughts. At last the 
wretch took advantage of the familiarity which he 
enjoyed as my relation, and the submission which 
he exacted as my benefactor, to complete the ruin 
of an orphan, whom his own promises had made 
‘indigent, whom his indulgence had melted, and his 
authority subdued. 

I know not why it should afford subject of exul- 
tation to overpower on any terms the resolution, or 
surprise the caution of a girl; but of all the boasters 
that deck themselves in the spoils of innocence and 
beauty, they surely have the least pretensions to 
triumph, who submit to owe their success to some 
casual influence. They neither employ the graces 
of fancy, nor the force of understanding, in their 
attempts; they cannot please their vanity with the 
art of their approaches, the delicacy of their adula- 
tions, the elegance of their address, or the efficacy 
of their eloquence; nor applaud themselves as 
possessed of any qualities, by which affection is at- 
tracted. They surmount no obstacles, they defeat 
no rivals, but attack only those who cannot resist, 
and are often content to possess the body, without 
any solicitude to gain the heart. 

Many of those despicable wretches does my 
present acquaintance with infamy and wickedness 
enable me to number among the heroes of de- 
bauchery. Reptiles whom their own servants would 
have despised, had they not been their servants, 
and with whom beggary would have disdained 

357 


THE RAMBLER 


intercourse, had she not been allured by hopes of 
relief. Many of the beings which are now rioting in 
taverns, or shivering in the streets, have been 
corrupted, not by arts of gallantry which stole 
gradually upon the affections and laid prudence 
asleep, but by the fear of losing benefits which were 
never intended, or of incurring resentment which 
they could not escape; some have been frighted by 
masters, and some awed by guardians into ruin. 

Our crime had its usual consequence, and he soon 
perceived that I could not long continue in his 
family. I was distracted at the thought of the re- 
proach which I now believed inevitable. He com- 
forted me with hopes of eluding all discovery, and 
often upbraided me with the anxiety, which perhaps 
none but himself saw in my countenance; but at 
last mingled his assurances of protection and main- 
tenance with menaces of total desertion, if, in the 
moments of perturbation I should suffer his secret 
to escape, or endeavour to throw on him any part 
of my infamy. 

Thus passed the dismal hours, till my retreat 
could no longer be delayed. It was pretended that 
my relations had sent for me to a distant county, 
and I entered upon a state which shall be described 


in my next letter. octets 


MISELLA. 


358 








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